'• 


--  I 


TALES  OF  THE  BORDER. 


BY   JAMES  HALL, 


Author  of  "  Legends  of  the  West,"  &c.  &c 


PHILADELPHIA  : 

HARRISON  HALL,  NO.  47,  SOUTH  THIRD  STREET. 

1835, 


ENTERED,  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  ;- 
HARRISON  HALL,  proprietor,  in  the  clerk's  office  of  the  district  court 
for  the  eastern  district  of  Pennsylvania. 

A..  \VALDIE.  PRINTER. 


CONTENTS. 


THE  PIONEER, 13 

THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE, 102 

THE  SPY,       129 

THE  CAPUCHIN, .  151 

THE  SILVER  MINE, 157 

THE  DARK  MAID  OP  ILLINOIS, 177 

THE  NEW  MOON, .213 


984091 


PREFACE. 

A  few  of  the  following  Tales  have  been 
heretofore  published  in  periodicals,  but  have 
not,  it  is  supposed,  been  circulated  to  such 
an  extent  as  to  have  been  generally  read; 
while  the  natural  partiality  which  a  writer 
feels  towards  his  literary  offspring  has  in- 
duced the  author  to  wish  to  preserve  them 
in  a  form  less  perishable  than  that  in  which 
they  first  appeared.  The  larger  portion,  how- 
ever, of  this  volume  is  now  presented  for  the 
first  time  to  the  public. 

Although  the  garb  of  fiction  has  been, 
assumed,  as  that  which  would  afford  the 
greatest  freedom  of  description,  the  incidents 
which  are  related  in  these  and  other  tales  of 
the  author  are  mostly  such  as  have  actually 
occurred ;  and  he  has  only  exercised  his  own 


10  PREFACE. 

invention  in  framing  the  plots,  so  as  to  bring 
together,  in  one  sketch,  the  adventures  which 
may  not  have  occurred  in  the  connection  in 
which  he  has  chosen  to  place  them,  or  which 
may  have  happened  to  different  individuals. 
In  the  descriptions  of  scenery  he  has  not,  in 
any  instance,  intentionally  departed  from 
nature,  or  exercised  his  own  fancy  in  the 
creation  of  a  landscape,  or  in  the  exaggera- 
tion of  the  features  which  he  has  attempted 
to  draw ;  and  if  the  fidelity  of  his  pictures 
shall  not  be  recognised  by  those  who  have 
traveled  over  the  same  ground,  the  deficien- 
cy will  have  resulted  in  the  badness  of  the 
execution,  and  not  in  any  intentional  devia- 
tion from  the  originals. 

In  two  of  the  tales,  which  occupy  the 
largest  space  in  the  volume,  the  author  has 
had  an  object  in  view,  which  will  be  readily 
understood  by  those  who  are  conversant 
with  American  history,  and  especially  by 
those  whose  sympathies  have  been  strongly 
enlisted  in  behalf  of  the  aborigines  of  our 


PREFACE.  11 

country.  Few  are  ignorant  of  the  existence 
of  that  mutual  antipathy  which  has  drawn  a 
broad  line  of  separation  between  the  white 
and  red  races,  and  kept  alive  a  feud  as 
deadly  as  it  has  'been  interminable.  Yet 
all  are  not  so  well  acquainted  with  the 
causes  of  that  unhappy  animosity,  nor  with 
the  numberless  irritating  circumstances  by 
which  the  passions  of  each  party  have  been 
excited,  and  a  jealousy  so  deplorable  handed 
down  from  generation  to  generation.  We 
have  selected  a  few  of  those  facts,  such  as 
most  commonly  occur,  and  have  given  them 
with  little  embellishment,  and,  we  hope,  with- 
out partiality. 

The  preparation  of  these  sketches  have 
cost  the  author  but  little  labour;  they  are 
plain  recitals  of  the  traditions  collected  by 
other  travellers  upon  our  border,  or  of  the 
legends  which  have  amused  his  own  hours 
while  sitting  by  the  hospitable  fireside  of  the 
western  farmer.  Their  brevity  will  probably 
secure  them  a  perusal,  in  common  with  the 


1'J  PREI 

similar  productions  of  the  press.  Should 
any  ivad  them  with  instruction,  the  author 
will  l>e  satisfied :  sliould  the  critic  pass  them 
without  censure,  he  will  esteem  himself 
fortunate 


THE   PIONEER. 


I.  was  travelling  a  fbw  yc<us  ago>  in  t^o. 
ern  part  of  Illinois,  where  the  settlements,  now 
thinly  scattered,  were  but  just  commenced.  A 
few  hardy  men,  chiefly  hunters,  had  pushed  them- 
selves forward  in  •  advance  of  the  main  body  of 
emigrants,  who  were  rapidly  but  quietly  taking 
possession  of  the  fertile  plains  of  that  beautiful 
state ;  and  their  cabins  were  so  thinly  scattered 
along  the  wide  frontier,  that  the  traveller  "rode 
many  miles,  and  often  a  whole  day  together,  with- 
out seeing  the  habitation  of  a  human  being.  I  had 
passed  beyond  the  boundaries  of  social  and -civil 
subordination,  and  was  no  longer  within  the  pre- 
cincts of  any  organised  country.  I  saw  the  camp 
of  the  Indian,  or  met  the  solitary  hunter,  wander- 
ing about  with  his  rifle  and  his  dog,  in  the  full 
enjoyment  of  that  independence,  and  freedom  from 

•   2 


14  THE  PIONEER. 

all  restraints,  so  highly  prized  by  this  class  of  our 
countrymen.  Sometimes  1  came  to  a  single  log 
hut,  standing  alone  in  the  wilderness,  far  removed 
from  the  habitations  of  other  white  men,  on  a  de- 
lightful spot,  surrounded  by  so  many  attractive 
and  resplendent  beauties  of  landscape,  that  a  prince 
might  have  selected  it  as  his  residence ;  and  again 
I  found  a  little  settlement,  where  a  few  families, 
far  from  all  other  civilised  communities,  enjoyed 
some  of  the  comforts  of  society  among  themselves, 
and  Jived  in  u  stat£* approaching  that  of  the  social 
condition.  .  •. 

;  jtfut  lvhetlier:I:  meJt  jktfc  tawny  native  of  the  forest, 
or  the  wild  pioneer  of  my  own  race,  I  felt  equally 
secure  from  violence.  1  found  them  always  inof- 
kii-ive,  and  usually  hospitable.  That  state  of 
continual  warfare,  which  marked  the  first  settle- 
ments upon  the  shores  of  the  Ohio,  h  id  ceased  to 
exist.  The  spirit  of  the  red  man  was  broken  !>y 
repeated  defeat.  He  had  become  accustomed  to 
encroachment,  and  had  learned  to  submit  to  that 
which  he  could  not  prevent.  However  deeply  he 
might  feel  the  sense  of  injury,  and  however  fiercely 
the  fires  of  revenge  might  burn  within  his  bosom, 
too*  many  lessons  of  severe  experience  had  taught 
him  to  restrain  his  passions.  Bitter  experience 
had  inculcated  the  lesson,  that  every  blow  struck 
at  the  white  man  recoiled  with  ten-fold  energy 
upon  himself. 


THE  PIONEER.  15 

I  found  the  pioneers  a  rude  but  a  kind  people. 
The  wretched  hovels,  built  of  rough  logs,  so  care- 
lessly joined  together  as  to  afford  but  a  partial 
protection  from  the  storm,  afforded  a  welcome 
shelter,  when  compared  with  the  alternative  of 
"  camping  out"  which  I  had  been  obliged  to  adopt 
more  frequently  than  was  agreeable.  Their  tables 
displayed  little  variety,  but  they  were  spread  with 
a  cheerful  cordiality  that  was  delightful  to  the 
weary  traveller.  There  were  venison,  poultry, 
rich  milk,  and  excellent  bread,  in  abundance. 
There  was  honey  too,  for  those  that  liked  it,  fresh 
and  fragrant  from  the  cell  of  the  wild  bee.  But 
the  smile  of  the  hostess  was  that  which  pleased  me 
most ;  her  hospitable  reception  of  the  tired  stran- 
ger— the  alertness  with  which  she  prepared  the 
meal-1— her  attention  to  his  wants — the  sympathy 
she  expressed  for  any  misadventure  that  had  befal- 
len him,  and  the  confidence  with  which 'she  ten- 
dered the  services  of  "  her  man,"  when  it  happened 
that  the  more  slowly  spoken  host  faltered  in  the 
performance  of  any  of  the  rites  of  hospitality ; — all 
these,  while  they  afforded  the  evidence  of  a  noble 
trait  of  nationality,  which  I  recognised  with  pride 
as  a  western  American,  reminded  me  also  of  the 
delicacy  and  quickness  of  perception  with  which  a 
woman  recognises  the  wants  of  him  who  "  has  no 
mother  to  bring  him  milk,  no  wife  to  grind  his 


16  THE  PIONEEU. 

1  halted  once  upon  the  "  Starved  Rock,"  a  spot 
rendered  memorable  by  a  most  tragic  legend  which 
has  been  handed  down  in  tradition.  It  is  a  stu- 
pendous mass  of  insulated  rock,  standing  upon  the 
brink  of  the  Illinois  river,  whose  waters  wash  its 
base.  Viewed  from  this  side,  it  is  seen  to  rise 
perpendicularly,  like  the  ramparts  of  a  tall  castle, 
frowning  over  the  still  surface  of  that  beautiful 
stream,  and  commanding  an  extensive  prospect  of 
low,  but  richly  adorned,  and  quiet,  and  lovely 
shores.  Passing  round,  the  bulwark  of  rock  is 
found  to  be  equally  precipitous  and  inaccessible  on 
either  side,  until  the  traveller  reaches  the  rear, 
where  a  narrow  ledge  is  found  to  slope  off  from  the 
summit  towards  the  plain,  affording  the  only  means 
of  access  to  this  natural  fortress.  Here  a  small 
tribe  of  Indians,  who  had  been  defeated  by  their 
enemies,  are  said  to  have  taken  refuge  with  their 
wives  and  children.  The  victorious  party  sur- 
rounded the  rock,  and  cut  off  the  wretched  garri- 
son from  all  possibility  of  retreat,  and  from  every 
means  of  subsistence.  The  siege  was  pressed 
with  merciless  rigour,  and  the  defence  maintained 
with  undaunted  obstinacy — exhibiting,  on  either 
side,  those  remarkable  ti*aits  of  savage  character : 
on  the  one,  the  insatiable  and  ever  vigilant  thirst 
for  vengeance ;  on  the  other,  unconquerable  endur- 
ance of  suffering.  The  position  is  so  inaccessible, 
that  any  attempt  to  carry  it  by  assault  was  wholly 


THE  PIONEER.  17 

impracticable,  and  the  dreadful  expedient  was 
adopted  of  reducing  it  by  starvation — an  expedient 
which  was  rendered  inevitably  arid  rapidly  success- 
ful, by  the  circumstance  that  the  summit  of  the 
rock  afforded  no  water,  and  that  the  besieged  party 
had  laid  in  no  supply  of  provisions. 

It  is  shocking  to  reflect  on  such  warfare.  There 
is  nothing  in  it  of  the  pomp,  or  pride,  or  circum- 
stance, which  often  deceive  us  into  an  admiration 
of  deeds  of  violence.  In  reading  of  the  stern  con- 
flict of  gallant  men  who  meet  in  battle,  our  feelings 
are  enlisted  by  the  generosity  which  exposes  life 
for  life.  The  "  plumed  troops,  and  the  big  wars," 
stir  up  the  soul  to  a  momentary  forgetfulness  of 
the  vices  they  engender,  and  the  wretchedness 
they  produce,  though  we  cannot  agree  with  the 
poet,  that  they  "make  ambition  virtue."  We 
admire  the  genius  which  plans,  and  the  talent  that 
executes,  a  successful  stratagem,  and  pay  the  ho- 
mage of  our  respect  to  any  bright  development  of 
military  science.  Courage  always  wins  applause ; 
we  cannot  withhold  our  approbation  from  a  daring 
act,  even  though  the  motive  be  wrong.  But  brave- 
ry on  a  fair  field,  and  in  a  good  cause,  becomes 
heroism,  and  warms  the  heart  into  an  enthusiastic 
admiration.  How  different  from  all  this,  and  from 
all  that  constitutes  the  chivalry  of  warfare,  and 
how  like  the  cold-blooded  sordidness  of  a  deliberate 
murder,  was  that  savage  act  of  starving  to  death  a 


18  THE  PIOM 

whole  tribe, — the  warriors  th'-  a^rd,  the 
and  the  children  !  And  such,  in  fact,  became  the 
fate  of  that  unhappy  remnant  of  a  nation  which  had 
once  possessed  the  sovereignty  over  these  beautiful 
plains,  and  had  hunted,  and  fought,  and  sat  in 
council,  in  all  the  pride  of  an  independent  people. 
The  pangs  of  hunger  and  thirst  pressed  them,  but 
they  maintained  their  post  ^yith  obstinate  courage, 
determined  rather  to  die  of  exhaustion,  than  to 
afford  their  enemies  the  triumph  of  killing  them  in 
battle  or  exposing  them  at  the  Bteke.  1 'very  strata- 
gem which  they  attempted  was  discovered  and  de- 
ti  at<  <l.  When  they  endeavoured  to  procure  water 
in  the  night,  by  lowering  vessels  attached  to  long 
cords  into  the  river,  the  vigilant  besiegers  detected 
the  design,  and  placed  a  guard  in  canoes  to  prevent 
its  execution.  They  all  perished — one,  and  only 
one,  excepted.  The  last  sunivin^r  warriors  de* 
I'rnded  the  entrance  so  well,  that  thr  Qnenty  could 
neither  enter  nor  discover  the  fatal  progress  of  the 
work  of  death  ;  and  when,  at  last,  all  show  of  resist- 
ance having. ceased,  and  all  signs  of  life  disappeared, 
the  victors  ventured  cautiously  to  approach,  they 
found  but  one  survivor — a  squaw,  whom  they  adopt- 
ed into  their  own  tribe,  and  who  was  yet  living,  at 
an  advanced  age,  when  the  first  white  men  pene- 
trated into  this  region. 

One  morning,  on  resuming  my  journey,  I  found 
that  my  way  led  across  a  wide  prairie.     The  road 


THE  PIONEER.  11> 

was  a  narrow  foot-path,  so  indistinct  as  to  be 
scarcely  visible  among  the  high  grass.  As  I  stood 
in  the  edge  of  a  piece  of  woodland,  and  looked  for- 
ward over  the  extensive  plain,  not  the  least  appear- 
ance of  forest  could  be  seen — nothing  but  the  grassy 
surface  of  the  broad  natural  meadow,  with  here 
and  there  a  lonely  tree.  It  was  in  the  spring  of 
the  year,  and  the  verdure  was  exquisitely  fresh 
and  rich.  The  undulating  plain,  sloping  and  swell- 
ing into  graceful  elevations,  was  as  remarkable  for 
the  beauty  of  its  outline  as  for  the  resplendent  bril- 
liancy of  its  hues.  But  although  the  prairie  was 
so  attractive  in  appearance,  there  was  something 
not  pleasant  in  the  idea  of  crossing  it  alone.  The 
distance  over  it,  to  the  nearest  point  of  woodland, 
was  thirty  miles.  There  was,  of  course,  neither 
a  house  nor  any  shelter  by  the  way — nothing  but 
the  smooth  plain,  with  its  carpet  of  green  richly 
adorned  with  an  endless  variety,  of  flowers.  To 
launch  out  alone  on  the  wide  and  blooming  desert, 
seemed  like  going  singly  to  sea ;  and  it  was  impos- 
sible to  avoid  feeling  a  sense  of  lonesomeness  when 
I  looked  around,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach, 
without  seeing  a  human  being  or  a  habitation,  and 
without  the  slightest  probability  of  beholding  either 
within  the  whole  day.  As  1  rode  forth  from  the 
little  cabin  which  had  given  me  shelter  through 
the  night,  T  could  not  avoid  looking  back  repeatedly 
at  the  grove  which  surrounded  itr  with  a  wistful- 


20  THE  PIONEER. 

ness  like  that  of  the  mariner  as  he  regards  a  slowly 
receding  shore.  But  the  sun  was  rising  in  majes- 
tic lustre  from  the  low  distant  horizon,  shedding  a 
flood  of  light  over  the  placid  scene,  and  causing 
the  dew-drops  that  gemmed  the  grass  to  sparkle 
like  a  silver  tissue — and  1  spurred  my  steed  for- 
ward with  mingled  sensations  of  delight  and  pen- 
siveness. 

I  soon  became  convinced  that  the  journey  of  this 

was  likely  to  prove  disagreeably  eventful. 
There  had  recently  been  some  heavy  falls  of  rain, 
and  the  ravines  which  intersect  the  prairie,  and 
serve  as  drains,  were  full  of  water.  Some  of  these 
are  broad,  and  many  of  them  too  deep  to  be  crossed 
when  tilled,  without  obliging  the  horse  to  swim; 
and  the  banks  are  often  so  steep,  that,  before  the 
rider  is  a\\  u.  <,f  his  danger,  the  horse  plunges 
{!'!  \\ard  headlong,  throwing  the  unwary  traveller 
over  his  neck  into  the  stream.  I  rode  on,  how- 
ever, wading  through  pools  and  ravines,  but  happily 

>ing  accident,  and  meeting  with  no  place  suffi- 
ciently  deep  to  try  the  skill  of  my  steed  in  the 
iisi'ful  art  of  swimming,  though*  the  water  often 
bathed  his  sides,  and  sometimes  reached  nearly  to 
his  back.  Nor  was  this  all — "  misfortunes  never 
come  single."  The  clouds  began  to  pile  them- 
selves up  in  the  west, — rolling  upward  from  the 
horizon  portentously  black.  The  signs  were  omi- 
nous of  a  day  of  frequent  and  heavy  showers.  But 


THE  PIONEER.  21 

how  could  f  help  myself?  On  a  prairie  there  is 
no  refuge  from  the  fury  of  the  storm,  any  more 
than  there  is  upon  the  ocean ;  and  to  warn  a  tra- 
veller that  the  rain  is  soon  to  fall,  is  about  as  prac- 
tically useful  to  him  as  would  be  the  inculcation  of 
that  ancient  canon  of  the  church, — "  No  man  may 
marry  his  grandmother."  I  looked  back  at  the 
clouds,  and  then  looked  forward  to  a  wetting.  It 
is  vexatious  to  be  caught  thus.  A  shower-bath  is 
pleasant  enough  when  taken  voluntarily,  but  not 
so  when  it  must  be  received  upon  compulsion.  To 
be  wet  is  no  great  misfortune,  nor  is  there  any 
thing  dangerous  or  melancholy  in  the  occurrence. 
But  this  only  makes  it  the  more  provoking.  If 
there  was  any  thing  pathetic  in  the  catastrophe  of 
a  ducking,  or  any  bravery  to  be  evinced  in  bearing 
the  pitiless  peltings  of  the  storm,  it  might  do.  But 
there  is  no  sympathy  for  wet  clothes,  nor  does  a 
man  earn  any  tribute  of  respect  for  his  patient  en- 
durance, when  sitting  like  a  nincompoop  under  the 
outpourings  of  a  thundergust.  The  whole  affair 
is  undignified  and  in  bad  taste.  Few  things  so 
humble  one's  pride,  and  make  one  feel  so  utterly 
insignificant,  and  so  like  a  wet  rag,  as  to  be  soaked 
to  the  skin  against  our  own  consent. 

It  was  thus  that  I  felt  on  this  unlucky  day.  The 
clouds  rolled  on  until  the  whole  heavens  became 
overcast.  That  splendid  sun  which  had  risen  so 
joyously,  and  lighted  up  the  landscape,  and 


22  THE  PIONEER. 

denccl  the  face  of  nature,  was  obscured,  and  heavy 
shado\vs  pervaded  the  plain.  The  clouds  settled 
down,,  until  the  low  arch  of  suspended  fluid  appeared 
to  rest  upon  the  prairie.  I  drew  on  my  great  coat. 
A  blast  of  wind  swept  past  me — then  the  rain  fell 
in  torrents  upon  my  back,  as  if  poured  out  from  ten 
thousand  water  buckets.  What  a  dunce  was  I 
to  put  on  my  over-coat,  which  only  served  as  a 
spunge  to  suck  in  the  descending  cataract,  and  load 
me  down  with  an  accumulated  weight.  The  rain 
poured  in  streams  from  the  eaves  of  my  hat — it 
boat  upon  my  neck,  and  insinuated  itself  under  my 
clothes — it  ran  down  into  my  boots,  and  filled  them 
until  they  overflowed.  I  felt  cowed,  crest-fallen, 
hen-pecked — I  compared  myself  to  a  drowned-rat 
— to  a  pelted  incumbent  of  the  pillory — to  any 
thing  but  an  honest  man,  a  republican,  and  a  gen- 
tleman. I  got  vexed,  and  kicked  my  spurs  into 
my  horse,  who,  instead  of  mending  his  pace,  only 
threw  up  his  head  indignantly,  as  if  to  reproach 
me  for  the  supplementary  torture  thus  gratuitously 
bestowed  upon  my  companion  in  trouble.  I  re- 
lented, drew  in  my  rein,  stopped  short,  and  just  sat 
still  and  took  it — and  presently  the  rain  stopped 
also.  It  cannot  rain  always. 

I  drew  a  long  breath,  and  looked  around  me,  as 
the  war  of  the  elements  ceased.  My  saturated 
garments  hung  shapelessly  about  my  person,  and 
I  had  the  cold  comfort  of  knowing  that  there  they 


THE  PIONEER.  23 

must  continue  to  hang,  and  I  to  shiver  under  them, 
until  all  the  particles  of  moisture  should  be  carried 
away  by  the  slow  process  of  evaporation — for  the 
rain  had  penetrated  my  saddle-bags  and  soaked  my 
whole  wardrobe.  The  clouds  still  looked  watery, 
and  were  rolling  up  in  heavy  masses,  portentous  of 
new  and  repeated  showers.  If  it  would  not  have 
been  unmanly,  and  unlucky  too,  1.  should  have 
turned  back,  and  regained  the  shelter  of  my  last 
night's  lodgings — but  1  was  as  wet  as  1  could  be, 
and — as  General  •  Washington  said  when  he  was 
sitting  for  his  portrait — "  in  for  a  penny,  in  for  a 
pound. " 

As  1  looked  about  me  I  perceived,  at  a  great 
distance,  a  horseman  approaching  in  my  rear,  and 
travelling  in  the  same  direction  with  myself.  1 
determined  to  wait  for  him, — the  more  readily,  as 
1  had  just  arrived  at  the  brink  of  a  ravine  which 
was  broader  and  apparently  deeper  than  any  I  had 
passed,  and  in  which,  in  consequence  of  the  recent 
shower,  the  water  was  rushing  rapidly.  Any  com- 
pany at  such  a  time  was  better  than  none :  1  was 
willing  to  run  the  risk  of  being  scalped  by  a  Win- 
nebago,  talked  out  of  my  senses  by  a  garrulous 
Kentuckian,  or  questioned  to  death  by  a  travelling 
Yankee,  rather  than  ride  any  further  alone. 

As  the  traveller  approached  me  and  halted,  with 
the  courtesy  usual  in  the  country,  1  was  struck 
with  his  appearance.  From  his  countenance  one 


24  THI:  PIONEER. 

would  have  pronounced  him  to  be  a  soldier,  but  his 
garb  was  that  of  a  method  ist  preacher.  Dressed 
in  the  coarse  homespun  fabric  which  is  made,  and 
almost  universally  worn,  in  this  region,  there  was 
yet  a  dignity  in  the  air  and  conduct  of  this  stran- 
ger which  was  independent  of  apparel.  His  coarse 
and  sunburnt  complexion  was  that  of  a  person  who 
had  been  exposed  to  the  elements  from  childhood. 
It  was  not  scorched  and  reddened  by  recent  expo- 
sure, but  regularly  tanned  and  hardened,  until  its 
texture  would  have  bid  defiance  to  the  attacks  of  a 
musquito,  or  any  other  insect  or  reptile  of  less 
muscular  powers  than  the  rattlesnake.  His  fea* 
tures  were  composed,  but  the  air  of  perfect  calm 
that  rested  upon  tin -in  was  that  of  reason  and 
reflection  operating  upon  a  vigorous  mind,  which 
had  once  been  \i«.lrntl\  <v  it  <d  by  passion.  T 
could  be  no  mistake  in  the  expression  of  these 
thin  compressed  lips,  indicating  unalterable  reso- 
lution and  sternness  of  purpose.  The  high  relief, 
and  strong  development  of  the  muscles  of  the 
evinced  the  long  continued  impulse  of  powerful 
emotion.  But  the  small  gray  eye  was  that  which 
most  attracted  attention.  It  was  fierce,  and  bold, 
\et  subdued.  Time  and  the  elements  had  driven 
the  blood  from  the  cheeks,  but  the  eye  ret- 
ail the  fire  of  youth.  There  was  an  intensity  in 
its  glance  which  caused  another  eye  to  sink  or  turn 
aside,  rather  than  gaze  at  it  directly:  and  this 


THE  PIONEER.  25 

was  not  in  consequence  of  any  thing  sinister  or 
repulsive  in  the  expression,  but  because  the  power 
of  vision  seemed  to  be  so  concentrated  and  intense 
as  to  defy  concealment.  There  was  a  vigilance, 
too,  about  that  eye,  as  1  had  afterwards  occasion  to 
observe,  which  seemed  never  to  sleep,  and  suffered 
nothing  to  escape  its  attention.  Without  at  all 
disturbing  the  sedate  demeanour  of  the  body,  and 
the  nearly  motionless  position  of  the  head — the 
eye,  moving  quietly  and  almost  imperceptibly 
under  the  lid,  watched  all  that  passed  around, 
while  the  ear  caught  the  slightest  sound  with  an 
acuteness  which  was  extraordinary  to  one  not 
accustomed  to  this  perfect  exercise  of  the  faculty 
of  attention. 

In  the  wilderness,  it  is  well  understood  that 
strangers  who  meet  may  address  each  other  with 
frankness:  it  was  soon  discovered  that  we  were 
travelling  in  the  same  direction,  and  agreed  that 
we  should  go  together.  The  stranger  took  the 
lead ;  arid  if  I  was  at  first  struck  with  his  appear- 
ance, 1  was  now  even  more  surprised  at  his  perfect 
composure,  under  circumstances  which  were  cer- 
tainly unpleasant,  and  perhaps  dangerous.  He 
rode  into  the  ravine  before  us,  as  carelessly  as 
if  it  had  formed  a  part  of  the  hard  path,  neither 
changed  position  nor  countenance  as  his  horse 
began  to  swim,  managed  the  animal  with  the  most 
perfect  ease  and  expertness,  and,  on  reaching  the 
3 


26  THE  PIONEER. 

opposite  shore,  continued  to  move  quietly  forward, 
without  seeming  to  notice  the  splashing  and  puff- 
ing which  it  was  costing  me  to  effect  the  same 
operation. 

As  we  rode  on  we  found  the  earth  saturated, 
and  tho  surface  of  the  plain  flowing  with  wat» -r. 
Throughout  the  day  the  showers  were  frequent 
and  heavy,  gust  after  gust  passed  over  us,  each  as 
furious  as  the  last.  We  had  to  wade  continually 
through  pools,  or  to  swim  our  horses  through 
torrents.  My  companion  minded  none  of  these 
things,  and  I  became  astonished  at  the  imper- 
turbable gravity  with  which  he  encountered  those 
difficulties,  which  had  not  only  fatigued  me  nearly 
to  death,  but  so  worried  my  patience  that  1  had 
grown  nervous  and  irritable.  On  he  plunged, 
through  thick  and  thin,  selecting  the  best  paths 
and  crossing  places — guiding  his  horse  with  con- 
summate skill — l-ivouri'iir  the  animal  by  avoiding 
obstacles,  and  taking  all  advantages  which  expe- 
rience suggested, — yet  pushing  steadily  on  through 
impediments  which,  at  first  sight,  seemed  to  me 
impassable.  On  such  occasions  he  took  the  lead, 
as  he  did  generally  along  the  narrow  path  which 
we  could  only  travel  comfortably  in  single  file ; 
but,  when  the  ground  permitted,  we  rode  abreast 
and  enira^ed  in  conversation. 

Towards  evening  we  arrived  at  the  brink  of  a 
small  river,  not  wide,  but  brim-full,  and  whose 


THE  PIONEER.  27 

stream  swept  along  impetuously,  bearing  logs  and 
the  recently  riven  branches  of  trees  upon  its  foam- 
ing bosom.  The  idea  of  swimming  on  the  backs 
of  our  tired  horses,  over  such  a  torrent,  was  not  to 
be  entertained ;  and  1  actually  groaned  aloud,  in 
despair,  at  the  thought  of  being  obliged  to  spend 
the  night  upon  its  banks.  But  my  companion, 
without  halting,  observed  calmly,  that  a  more 
favourable  place  for  crossing  might  possibly  be 
found ;  and,  turning  his  horse's  head  along  the 
brink  of  the  river,  began  to  trace  its  meanders. 
Presently  we  came  to  a  spot  where  a  large  tree 
had  fallen  across,  the  roots  adhering  to  one  bank 
while  the  top  rested  upon  the  other.  My  com- 
panion dismounted  and  began  to  strip  his  horse, 
leaving  nothing  on  him  but  the  bridle,  the  reins  of 
which  he  fastened  carefully  over  the  animal's 
head,  and  then  leading  him  to  the  water,  drove 
him  in.  The  horse,  accustomed  to  such  proceed- 
ings, stepped  boldly  into  the  flood,  and,  stemming 
it  with  a  heart  of  controversy,  swam  snorting  to 
the  opposite  shore,  followed  by  my  trusty  steed. 
We  then  gathered  up  our  saddles,  and  other 
"  plunder,"  and  mounting  the  trunk  of  the  fallen 
tree,  crossed  with  little  difficulty,  caught  our  steeds 
who  were  waiting  patiently  for  us,  threw  on  our 
saddles,  and  proceeded. 

It  was  night  when  we  reached  a  cabin,  where 
we  were  hospitably  entertained.     Kindly  as  stran- 


28  THE  PIONEER. 

gers  arc  always  received  in  this  region,  I  could 
not  but  observe  that  the  ecclesiastical  character  of 
my  companion  excited,  on  this  occasion,  an  unusual 
a  — i<l  uit  y  of  attention  and  homage  of  respect.  The 
people  of  our  frontier  are  remarkable  for  the  pro- 
l»ii«  ty  of  their  conduct  in  this  particular.  How- 
<  \«  r  rude  or  careless  their  demeanour  towards 
others  may  sometimes  be,  a  minister  of  the  gospel 
i?  always  received  at  their  houses  with  a  imxtun 
of  reverence  and  cordiality,  \\hich  shows  the 
welcome  given  him  to  be  as  sincere  as  it  is 
liberal.  They  seem  to  feel  unaffectedly  grateful 
for  the  labours  of  these  devoted  men  in  their 
behalf,  and  to  consider  themselves  honoured,  as 
well  as  obliged,  by  their  visits.  And  none  deserve 
their  gratitude  and  affection  in  a  greater  degree 
than  the  preachers  of  that  sect  to  which  my  com- 
panion belonged.  They  are  the  pioneers  of  reli- 
gion. They  go  fon-nx-t  in  the  great  work  of 
spreading  the  gospel  in  the  desolate  places  of  our 
country.  Wherever  the  vagrant  foot  of  the  hunter 
-  in  pursuit  of  game — wherever  the  trader  is 
allured  to  push  his  canoe  by  the  spirit  of  traffic — 
wherever  the  settler  strikes  his  axe  into  the  tree, 
or  begins  to  break  the  fresh  sod  of  the  prairie,  the 
circuit-riders  of  this  denomination  are  found  min- 
gling with  the  hardy  tenants  of  the  wilderness, 
curbing  their  licentious  spirit,  and  taming  their 
fierce  passions  into  submission.  They  carry  the 


Bible  to  time,  who,  without  their  ministry,  wiwid 
only 

"See  God  in  doods,  or  heai  Lim  in  the  wind.** 

They  introduce  ideas  of  social  order,  and  civil 
restraint,  where  the  injunctions  of  law  cannot  be 
heard,  and  its  arm  is  not  seen.  And  these  things 
they  do  at  the  sacrifice  of  every  domestic  comfort, 
and  at  the  risk  of  health  and  life.  At  all  seasons, 
and  in  all  weathers,  they  go  fearlessly  on ;  rid  ing 
through  trackless  deserts,  encamping  in  the  open 
air,  crossing  rivers,  and  enduring  the  same  hard- 
ships which  beset  the  hunter  in  the  pursuit  of  his 
toilsome  calling,  or  the  soldier  in  the  path  of 
victory. 

These  reflections  occurred  to  my  mind  when  1 
recalled  the  superiority  over  myselfj  young  and 
vigorous  as  I  thought  I  was,  which  my  companion 
lifrd  shown  in  surmounting  the  djffimltfCff  of  a 
border  journey.  As  I  saw  him  seated  at  the 
cheerful  fireside  of  the  woodsman,  I  was  surprised 
to  perceive  how  little  he  seemed  affected  by  the 
fatigues  of  the  day,  how  totally  he  appeared  to 
forget  them,  and  with  what  ease  and  earnestness 
be  conversed  with  the  family  on  serious  topics 
suggested  by  himself.  He  sat  with  them  as  their 
equal  and  their  friend.  He  enquired  familiarly 
about  their  health,  their  crops,  their  cattle,  and 
all  their  concerns — led  them  gradually  to  speak  of 


30  THE  PIONEER. 

their  moral  habits,  and,  finally,  of  their  religious 
opinions.  As  the  time  to  retire  approached,  he 
drew  the  sacred  volume  from  his  pocket,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  the  performance  of  that  service  which 
has  always  struck  me  as  the  most  solemn  and  af- 
1« «  tini:  of  religious  exercises — the  worship  of  the 
family — where  those  united  by  the  tenderest  ti«-- 
of  affection  kneel  together  before  the  throne  of 
grace,  to  render  their  humble  tribute  of  thanks 
for  blessings  received,  and  to  invoke  for  each 
other  the  continued  protection  of  Heaven. 

On  the  following  morning  we  departed  at  the 
dawn.  I  accompanied  my  new  acquaintance  seve- 
ral days,  during  which  we  experienced  a  variety 
of  adventures  and  hardships  ;  and  I  had  many 
opportunities  tor  oh  the  courage  of  my 

companion,  his  perfect  self-possession  under  < 
vicissitude,  and  his  skill  in  all  the  arts  of  the 
backwoodsman.  He  was  the  most  accomplished 
woodsman  that  1  have  ever  met.  No  danger 
could  daunt  him,  no  obstacle  impeded  our  way 
which  he  had  not  some  expedient  to  obviate  or 
avoid.  He  was  never  deceived  as  to  the  points  of 
the  compass  or  the  time  of  day.  If  our  path 
became  dim,  or  seemed  to  wind  away  from  the 
proper  direction,  he  struck  off  without  hesitation 
across  the  prairie,  or  through  the  forest,  and 
always  reached  the  place  which  he  sought  with 
unerring  certainty.  Community  of  peril  and  ad- 


THE  PIONEER.  31 

venture  soon  begets  friendship,  and  our  casual 
acquaintance  ripened  speedily  into  intimacy.  I 
became  struck  with  the  conversational  powers  of 
my  companion ;  though  habitually  taciturn,  he 
sometimes  grew  social  and  communicative,  and 
then  his  language  was  energetic,  his  train  of 
thought  original,  and  his  figures  bold  and  rheto- 
rical. He  seemed  to  have  no  acquaintance  with 
books,  but  had  studied  nature,  and  had  stored  his 
mind  with  a  fund  of  allusions  drawn  from  her 
ample  volume.  There  was  something  mysterious 
about  him  that  excited  my  curiosity.  His  peace- 
ful garb  and  holy  calling  were  entirely  inconsistent 
with  his  military  bearing,  his  keen  jealous  eye,  his 
intimate  acquaintance  with  the  artifices  of  the 
hunter,  and  the  wistful  glances  which  I  some- 
times saw  him  throw  at  the  rifles  of  the  persons 
we  occasionally  met.  At  last  I  ventured  to  sug- 
gest the  impressions  made  upon  my  mind  by  these 
seeming  contradictions,  and  was  gratified  by  a 
frank  relation  of  his  history.  It  was  minutely 
detailed  in  the  course  of  several  conversations. 
I  cannot  pretend  to  repeat  his  wild  emphatic  lan- 
guage, but  will  give  the  story  as  nearly  as  I  can 
in  his  own  manner. 


TUB  PIONEER. 


THE  PIONEER'S  TALE. 

There  are  some  events  in  my  life,  said  m\ 
friend,  to  which  I  cannot  look  back  without  shud- 
dering. Although  time  has  cooled  my  feelings, 
and  ^iven  a  better  tone  to  the  decisions  of  my 
judgment,  it  has  not  destroyed  the  vividness  of 
tho<e  impressions  which  \\vn-  made  upon  my 
memory  in  childhood.  They  still  present  them- 
selves with  all  the  iiimili.-irity  of  recent  trans- 
actions; and  t  times  when  a  peculiar 
combination  of  cm-must;!  them  with 
a  t'rv>hness  that  seems  to  partake  more  of  reality 
than  of  repollection,  and  when  I  can  hardly  per- 
<uad .•  m\ --If  that  the  same  scenes  are  not 
about  to  be  acted  over.  Sometimes  a  particnla! 
-tate  of  the  atmosphere,  the  position  of  the  clouds, 
and  the  distribution  of  liirht  and  shade,  «M 
character  to  the  landscape  which  transports  me 
back  in  a  moment  to  the  days  of  childhood,  and 
pictures,  in  living  truth  upon  my  imagination,  an 
event  which  occurred  under  such  circumstances, 
as  to  have  connected  it  indissolubly  with  tlu»e 
natural  appearances.  A  sound  has  suddenly  poured 
in  a  train  of  associations:  the  song  of  the  bird  in 
some  distant  tree,  the  hooting  of  an  owl,  the  long 
dissonant  bay  of  the  wolf,  borne  on  the  still  air 
when  the  moonlight  reposed  on  the  tops  of  the 


THE  PIONEER.  33 

trees,  has  awakened  reminiscences  which  reach 
back  almost  to  infancy. 

I  have  but  an  indistinct  recollection  of  my  father. 
I  have  endeavoured  to  preserve  the  impression,  for 
there  is  a  sacredness  connected  with  his  memory, 
which  renders  it  dear  to  my  heart ;  but  it  is  so 
dim,  and  so  shadowed  over  by  other  images,  that 
I  know  not  whether  it  be  the  real  impress  made  by 
his  kindness  on  my  young  nature,  or  the  offspring 
of  fancy.  He  was  one  of  the  pioneers  who  came 
to  the  forests  of  Kentucky,  among  the  first  adven- 
turers to  that  scene  of  disastrous  conflict.  My 
mother  followed  his  footsteps  to  the  wilderness, 
bearing  me,  an  infant,  in  her  arms,  resolved  to 
participate  in  the  vicissitudes  of  his  fortune,  how- 
ever precarious,  and  to  brave  all  the  dangers  and 
hardships  of  a  border  life,  rather  than  endure  the 
greater  pain  of  separation.  Their  cabin  was 
reared  upon  the  shores  of  the  Kentucky  river,  in 
one  of  the  most  blooming  valleys  of  that  Eden, 
which  nature  seems  to  have  created  in  a  moment 
of  prodigal  generosity.  They  were  happy ;  though 
destitute  of  all  that  constitutes  the  felicity  of  the 
larger  portion  of  mankind.  Without  society,  with 
no  luxuries,  and  with  few  of  the  comforts  of  civil- 
ised life,  they  were  content  in  the  society  of  each 
other.  My  father  was  a  bold  and  successful  hunter ; 
he  delighted  to  rove  over  those  fertile  plains, 
whose  magnificent  forests,  abounding  in  game,  ancj 


«J4  THE  PIONEER. 

rich  in  beauty,  were  so  alluring  to  every  lover  of 
sylvan  sport.  Having  selected  an  excellent  tract 
of  land,  from  which  he  began  to  clear  the  trees, 
IK-  indulged,  like  others,  in  flattering  anticipations 
of  the  wealth  and  independence  which  would 
crown  his  labours,  when  these  hroa d  lands  should 
!•••«•. MUG  the  seat  of  an  industrious  population,  and 
when  Kentucky,  thru  tin-  paradise  of  hunters, 
should  be  the  garden  of  Western  America.  These 
were  not  visionary  dreams  ;  tl  and  others 

who  indulged  them  did  not  live  to  behold  their  ac- 
complishment, their  descendan  MH»II  them 
abundantly  fulfilled. 

This  spot  was  the  birth-place  of  my  sister.  I 
remember  her  too,  with  a  fondness  that  no  subse- 
quent emotion  has  equalled  or  effaced.  I  cannot 
forget  her,  for  she  was  my  only  playmate.  The 
bitter  moment  when  I  realised  the  truth,  that  this 
sweet  child  was  separated  from  us,  to  be  restored 
no  more  in  this  world,  caused  a  gush  of  anguish, 
almost  too  strong  for  the  tenderness  of  my  young 
atlections,  and  left  a  wound  which  saddened  my 
spirits  throughout  the  years  of  my  early  life. 

Year  after  year  rolled  away,  and  my  parents 
continued  in  the  wilderness,  almost  alone,  and 
exposed  to  continual  danger.  At  first,  the  fre- 
quent alarms  caused  by  the  incursions  of  the 
savages,  and  the  many  vicissitudes  incident  to 
their  situation,  produced  discontent,  and  they 


THE  PIONEER.  35 

would  probably  have  returned  to  North  Carolina, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  shame  of  turning  their 
backs  on  danger,  and  leaving  others  exposed  to 
that  which  they  would  have  avoided.  But  the 
burthen  gradually  grew  lighter,  and  their  strength 
to  bear  it  increased.  The  little  cabin  appeared 
more  and  more  comfortable,  because  its  inmates 
became  accustomed  to  its  narrow  dimensions,  and 
its  meagre  accommodations.  It  was  their  HOME  ; 
it  was  the  spot  where  they  began  to  live  for  each 
other,  to  enjoy  the  endearments  of  conjugal  affec- 
tion, and  to  accumulate  the  comforts  of  domestic 
life  around  them  ;  and  every  year  brought  some 
addition  to  their  little  circle  of  enjoyments,  and 
added  new  links  to  the  chain  of  agreeable  asso- 
ciations, which  at  last  rendered  this  retreat, 
savage  as  it  was,  the  dearest  place  to  them  on 
earth.  So  my  mother  has  told  me  ;  and  I  well 
remember  the  glow  of  feeling  with  which  she 
spoke  of  those  years,  and  of  that  spot  which  was 
her  first  home  in  the  wilderness. 

She  had  to  endure  many  sufferings;  but  they 
were  light  when  placed  in  the  balance  against 
the  pleasures  that  sweetened  her  existence.  Her 
husband  cherished  her  with  tenderness  ;  and  with 
the  shield  of  his  affection  around  her,  the  clouds 
of  sorrow,  though  they  might  sadden  her  heart 
for  a  moment,  could  not  chill  it  with  the  wither- 
ing blight  which  falls  on  those  who  are  alone  in 


36  INI     i'l"\EER. 

the  world.  In  the  labours  of  husbandry,  they 
toiled  as  others  toil:  their  hopes  were  sometimes 
disappointed — the  frost  blasted  their  grain,  a 
drought  shortened  their  crops,  the  enemy  ravaged 
their  fields,  or  drove  away  their  cattle,  and  they 
found  themselves  as  poor  as  when  they  first  began 
the  world.  But  they  lived  in  a  plentiful  country ; 
their  neighbours,  though  few,  were  hospitable, 
and  they  never  knew  want.  The  pangs  of  hun- 
ger— the  deeper  anguish  of  listening  to  the  cries 
of  famishing  children,  are  not  among  the  <-\il> 
which  infest  the  duelling  of  the  American  bor- 
She  had  her  hours  of  solitude ;  when  my 
father  was  employed  in  wielding  the  axe,  or 
guiding  the  plough,  with  his  loaded  rifle  at  hand, 
and  his  dog  keeping  watch,  to  prevent  surprise 
by  the  Indians,  she  pursued  her  appropriate 
duties  in  silence  and  pensiveness  at  home.  But 
she  uas  working  fur  him,  and  this  rellertiun  sup- 
ported  her  in  his  absence,  until  his  return  brought 
an  ample  recompense  for  the  temporary  depriva- 
tion of  his  society.  Those  who  reside  in  i 
or  in  thickly  settled  neighbourhoods,  cannot  un- 
derstand the  full  force  of  this  language ;  but 
thousands  of  matrons  are  daily  realising  upon  the 
frontiers  of  our  country,  that  which  I  describe. 
The  youiiii-  wife  has  left  lather  and  mother  t«» 
cleave  unto  her  husband — she  \u\*  abandoned  the 
parental  roof,  the  home  of  childhood,  the  com- 


THE  PIONEER.  37 

panions  of  her  infancy — the  tenderness  of  a  proud 
father,  the  care  of  an  experienced  mother,  are 
hers  no  longer — she  has  left  the  circle  of  intimate 
friends  by  whom  she  is  known  and  appreciated — 
and  she  has  followed  cheerfully,  in  the  buoyancy  . 
of  hope  and  love,  the  footsteps  of  the  husband  of 
her  choice,  to  some  spot  beautifully  embellished 
by  the  hand  of  nature,  where  they  anticipate  all 
the  joys  of  Arcadian  felicity.  But  their  dwelling 
stands  alone,  separated  from  all  others  by  miles 
of  forest,  or  uninhabited  prairie.  All  her  affec- 
tions are  concentrated  upon  him  who  is  her  only 
friend  and  sole  companion ;  and  that  tie  which 
is  ordinarily  so  sweet,  so  strong,  and  so  indissolu- 
ble, becomes  more  powerful  by  the  absence  of  all 
other  objects  of  attachment  or  companionship. 
The  office  of  the  husband  assumes  a  tenderer 
and  holier  character, — for  he  is  the  only  adviser, 
friend,  and  protector,  of  her  who  has  forsaken  all 
for  him.  In  his  absence  she  sits  alone,  for  the 
time  being  a  widowed  and  desolate  creature.  If 
disease  suddenly  invade  the  dwelling  there  is  no 
friend  nor  neighbour  at  hand ;  if  an  accident 
befal  her  infant,  she  has  perhaps  no  messenger  ' 
to  send  for  assistance ;  and  in  those  early  times, 
in  which  the  scenes  that  1  relate  occurred,  there 
was  the  continual  terror  of  the  savage,  pressing 
like  the  hideous  monster  of  an  unquiet  dream, 
upon  the  bosom  of  the  wife,  who,  in  the  absence 
4 


38  THE  PIONEER. 

of  her  husband,  was  terrified  alike  by  his  ex- 
posure to  danger,  and  her  own  unprotected  con- 
dition. Often  did  the  young  mother,  of  those 
days,  hide  her  infant  in  some  secret  place,  while 
-h<-  pursued  her  domestic  labours. 

My  father,  fearless  himself,  placed  too  little 
confidence  in  the  reality  of  such  perils;  and 
although  generally  at  home,  siiticred  himself  oc- 
casionally to  be  persuaded  to  join  a  hunt,  01  a 
war  party.  Sometimes  a  longer  hunt  than  u-ual. 
or  an  accident,  detained  him  from  home  all 
m;:ht .  and  then  my  mother  passed  the  sleepless 
hours  in  listening  to  catch  the  sound  which 
mii:ht  announce  hi-;  return,  and  dreading  the 
moment  when  the  stealthy  footstep  of  the  Indian 
miiiht  invade  the  sanctity  of  her  dwelling.  On 
such  occasions,  she  would  hide  her  sleeping 
infants,  in  some  secret  spot,  not  likely  to  be 
suspected,  and  then  retire  to  her  own  bed,  await- 
ing the  result  in  anxious  suspense.  But  the 
severest  of  all  the  trials  of  her  fortitude  came, 
when  the  pioneers  were  summoned  to  the  field, 
and  my  father  joined  the  parties  of  armed  ran- 
gers, who  drove  the  savages  from  our  settlements, 
or  pursued  them  to  their  own  villages.  Then  it 
was,  that  day  after  day,  and  night  after  night,  she 
watched,  and  \\ept,  and  prayed,  and  felt  herself 
already  bowed  down  in  anticipation,  under  the 
hopeless  grief  of  an  imaginary  widowhood. 


THE  PIONEER.  39 

At  length  the  blow  came.  The  storm,  whose 
voice  had  often  been  heard  at  a  distance,  and 
which  had  thrown  its  lengthened  shadow  over 
our  little  dwelling,  burst  over  us  in  the  fulness  of 
its  destructive  energy.  One  day  my  father  had 
gone  out  to  a  piece  of  ground  which  he  was 
clearing,  not  far  from  the  house,  accompanied 
by  a  few  of  the  neighbouring  men,  who  had 
assembled  to  assist  him  in  rolling  some  large 
logs  into  heaps,  for  burning.  My  mother  was 
employed  in  sewing,  while  my  little  sister  and 
myself  played  on  the  floor.  She  heard  the  crack 
of  a  rifle,  in  the  direction  of  the  newly  cleared 
ground,  and  as  this  was  always  a  sound  which  ex- 
cited interest  in  the  mind  of  the  wife  of  a  pioneer, 
in  those  days  of  continual  warfare,  she  hastily 
stepped  to  the  door  to  listen.  A  single  report 
did  not  necessarily  imply  danger,  for  the  farmers 
always  carried  their  rifles  with  them  to  the  field 
of  labour ;  and  they  might  have  fired  at  one  of 
the  wild  animals  with  which  the  forest  abounded. 
But  another  and  another  report  followed  in  quick 
succession — and  then  the  shrill  war-whoop  of  the 
Indian — that  terrific  sound,  which  once  heard, 
is  never  forgotten.  The  little  party  had  been 
attacked  by  the  savages.  My  mother  rushed 
out  of  the  house.  Her  first  impulse  was  to 
hasten  to  the  scene  of  action,  to  aid  her  husband 
with  her  feeble  strength,  or  die  by  his  side.  But 


40  THE  PIONEER. 

the  recollection  of  her  children,  and  the  com  i< •- 
tion  that  she  could  render  no  service  in  the  battle, 
but  might  endanger  the  safety  of  her  little  ones 
by  abandoning  the  spot  which  was  her  post  of 
duty,  restored  her  presence  of  mind  ;  and  she 
climl>ed  to  the  top  of  a  hiirh  fence,  to  catch,  if 
possible,  a  view  of  the  combatants.  The  guns 
continued  to  be  discharged  in  rapid  succession  ; 
she  saw  the  smoke  rising  in  thin  columns  from 
each  explosion,  and  settling  in  a  dense  cloud 
the  field  of  conflict,  and,  under  the  dark  shadow 
of  the  edge  of  the  forest,  even  the  flashes  were 
visible.  What  a  scene  for  a  wife  to  witness! 
The  yells  of  the  Indians  were  mingled  with  the 
>honts  of  the  white  men — the  screams  of  anguish, 
and  the  horrible  exclamations  of  revenge,  were 
borne  together  to  the  ear  of  the  affrighted  ;m<I 
only  spectator  of  this  bloody  drama. 

In  this  moment  of  horror,  the  distracted  mother 
heard  the  piercing  screams  of  one  of  her  children, 
and  rushed  instinctively  to  the  house,  expecting 
to  find  that  the  savages  had  also  approached  in 
that  direction.  My  little  sister  had  fallen  into 
the  lire,  and  was  severely  burned.  She  snatched 
up  her  child,  began  to  tear  the  blazing  clothes 
away  from  it,  and  soon  ascertained,  that  the 
injury,  though  severe,  was  not  dangerous.  While 
thus  employed,  she  became  conscious  that  the 
war-whoop  had  died  away,  and  the  firing  ceased* 


THE  PIONEER.  41 

What  a  moment  for  the  wife  and  mother !  What 
excruciating  torments  are  inflicted  upon  the  help- 
less dependents,  and  inoffensive  companions  of 
man,  by  his  ambition,  his  fierce  passions,  and 
his  reckless  prodigality  of  life  !  The  battle  was 
over,  and  the  slain  were  lying  upon  the  field. 
She  knew  not  certainly  that  any  had  fallen,  but 
the  probability  was,  that  even  if  the  white  men 
were  victorious,  the  triumph  had  been  purchased 
by  a  heart-breaking  loss  to  some  unhappy  wife, 
or  wretched  mother — perhaps  to  herself.  But  if 
the  Indians  had  prevailed,  how  accumulated  the 
horror  of  her  situation !  The  tomahawk  might 
even  now  be  performing  its  brutal  office  in 
despatching  the  vanquished,  or  mutilating  the 
dead,  and  in  a  few  moments  she  might  be  com- 
pelled to  witness  the  expiring  agonies  of  her 
children  ! 

She  wept  bitterly  over  her  screaming  infant, 
and  almost  blamed  the  unconscious  child  that 
detained  her  from  rushing  to  her  husband.  Un- 
able to  restrain  her  impatience,  she  hastened  to 
the  door  with  the  babe  in  her  arms,  and  saw  the 
little  party  of  backwoods-men  slowly  returning. 
Why  came  they  with  such  tardy  steps — why  thus 
closely  crowded  together — why  did  they  halt  so 
often  ?  Alas !  they  bore  one  of  their  number  a 
corpse  in  their  arms !  She  ran  to  meet  them. 
As  she  came  near,  the  men  laid  down  their  bur- 
4* 


42  TIN:  PIONEER. 

then  under  tin.-  shade  of  a  large  tree,  and  then 
stood  respectfully  back — while  my  poor  mother, 
recognising  her  husband  in  the  agonies  of  death, 
threw  hejx'lf  on  the  ground  beside  him,  and  had 
only  time  to  attract  one  look  from  the  dying  man, 
by  her  shriek  of  agony,  ere  his  eyes  were  closed 
for  ever. 

The  remains  of  my  father  were  buried  near 
the  house,  and  my  mother  could  not  be  prevailed 
upon  to  quit  the  spot  around  which  her  affections 
lingered.  After  spending  a  few  weeks  at  the 
house  of  a  neighbour,  who  had  kindly  taken  us 
home  during  the  confusion  of  the  melancholy 
event,  she  returned  to  her  deserted  cabin,  having, 
in  the  mean  while,  written  to  an  unmarried  bro- 
ther in  North  Carolina  to  come  to  her.  He 
came  and  remained  with  us,  carrying  on  the 
bu>iness  of  our  farm,  and  acting  as  a  kind  pro- 
tector  to  us  all. 

From  this  period  I  date  the  commencement  of 
my  recollections.  I  remember  well  the  care-worn 
figure  and  broken-hearted  countenance  of  my  mo- 
ther. She  was  so  bowed  down  under  affliction 
that  her  voice  had  acquired  a  tremulous  tone, 
which  was  very  touching  to  those  who  knew  the 
cause,  and  especially  to  the  few  who  participated 
in  her  grief.  The  neighbours  were  kind  to  her  ; 
they  gathered  her  corn,  looked  after  her  affairs, 
and  provided  for  her  until  my  uncle's  arrival ;  and 


THE  PIONEER,  43 

continued  ever  afterwards  to  treat  her  with  con- 
siderate attention.  There  are  few  who  do  not 
feel  deep  sympathy  for  the  utter  desolation  of  the 
widow's  heart,  and  for  the  helpless  wretchedness 
of  her  unprotected  situation ;  nor  do  any  people 
exhibit,  in  the  indulgence  of  this  natural  feeling,  a 
more  manly  benevolence  than  our  backwoodsmen. 
Continually  exposed  to  danger,  and  dependent  on 
each  other  for  a  thousand  charitable  offices,  which 
are  always  rendered  without  remuneration,  they 
do  not  become  callous  to  the  misery  of  others,  but 
learn  to  feel  and  act  as  if  bound  to  those  around 
them  by  the  ties  of  fraternity.  They  visited  my 
mother  often  ;  and  the  story  of  my  father's  death 
was  repeated  so  frequently  as  to  be  deeply  im* 
pressed  upon  my  memory.  Jn  the  higher  circles 
of  life,  where  a  great  degree  of  refinement  is  said 
to  prevail,  it  is  not  customary,  I  believe,  to  con- 
verse with  the  parties  interested  upon  those  sad 
topics  which  deeply  affect  the  heart,  and  throw  a 
gloom  over  the  family  circle.  In  humble  life  it 
is  different :  the  fountains  of  grief  are  familiarly 
approached  and  thrown  open,  and  the  bitter  waters 
of  affliction  suffered  to  flow  freely  out.  The  heart 
relieves  itself  by  these  discussions,  and,  instead  of 
brooding  over  its  sorrows,  gives  them  vent,  and 
does  better  than  adding  imaginary  ills  to  those 
which  are  real,  by  learning  to  consider  the  subject 


44  THE  PION, 

in  the  same  practical  light  in  which  it  i-  \: 
by  others. 

My  sister  and  myself  often  strolled  to  the  woods 
in  until! T  iMit>,  nr  tf>  hunt  for  the  nests  of  birds — 
or  stole  away  to  a  neighbouring  stream  to  wade 
in  the  water.  But  we  never  went  fir  from  the 
house  without  having  the  fear  of  the  Indians  be- 
fore our  eyes.  We  had  heard  the  story  of  our 
father's  death  so  often  repeated — had  listened  to 
so  many  similar  legends — had  so  often  witnessed 
the  alarm  created  by  a  rumoured  appearance  of 
the  Indians  in  the  vicinity, — that  our  hearts  had 
learned  to  quail  in  terror  at  the  thought  of  a 
savage.  The  word  Indian  conveyed  to  our  mind* 
all  that  was  fierce,  and  dangerous,  and  hateful. 
We  knew  what  we  had  ourselves  suffered  from 
this  ferocious  race,  and  we  saw  that  others  li\v<l 
in  continual  fear  of  them.  We  heard  the  men 
talk  of  "  hunting  Indians,"  as  they  would  speak  of 
tracking  the  beast  of  prey  to  his  hiir — and  the 
women  never  met  without  speaking  of  the  abduc- 
tion of  children,  or  the  murder  of  females, — repeat- 
ing tale  after  tale,  each  exceeding  the  former  in 
horror,  until  the  whole  circle  became  agitated 
with  fear,  the  candles  seemed  to  burn  blue,  and 
the  slightest  sound  was  considered  as  a  progi. 
of  instant  massacre. 

Many   wore  our  childish   discussions  and  sur- 


THE  PIONEER.  45 

mises  on  this  all  absorbing  subject,  as  we  played 
together. 

"  What  made  the  Indians  kill  our  father  V  my 
little  sister  would  ask,  and  we  would  guess  and 
guess,  without  coming  to  any  other  conclusion 
than  that  it  was  "  because  they  were  bad  people." 

"  Would  they  kill  us?" — "Do  they  kill  every 
body  they  meet  ?" — "  Do  they  eat  people  ?"  were 
some  of  the  questions  which  naturally  occurred  to 
us,  and  it  will  be  readily  believed  that  the  agita- 
tion of  them  always  led  to  inferences  the  most 
unfavourable  to  the  Indian.  If  a  bush  rustled,  or 
a  footstep  was  heard  as  we  strolled  abroad,  we 
imagined  that  the  Indians  were  near ;  but,  instead 
of  running  and  screaming,  as  more  civilised  chil- 
dren would  have  done,  we  crept  silently  under  the 
nearest  cover,  or  dropped  quietly  in  the  high 
grass,  with  the  instinct  which  teaches  the  young 
partridge  a  similar  device — lying  perfectly  mo- 
tionless, and  throwing  our  little  wild  eyes  vigilantly 
about  until  the  danger  had  passed.  We  should 
not  have  moved  had  an  Indian  stepped  over  us ; 
nor  have  betrayed  any  signs  of  life,  so  long  as 
silence  would  have  afforded  concealment.  Such 
are  the  habits  of  cunning  and  of  self-command 
acquired,  even  in  infancy,  by  those  who  live  on  a 
frontier  exposed  to  hostile  incursions — who  are 
often  in  danger,  and  who  hear  continually  of  stra*. 
tagems  and  deeds  of  violence* 


46  THE  PIONEER. 

Thus  two  years  of  my  mother's  widowhood  had 
rolled  away,  when  one  day  my  sister  and  myself 
were  amusing  ourselves  by  dabbling  in  the  water 
of  a  small  branch  not  far  from  the  house.  She 
was  at  ;i  distance  from  me — and,  being  intent  <>n 
dillerent  objects,  we  had  not  spoken  for  some 
time — when  suddenly  I  heard  her  utter  a  most 
piercing  shriek.  I  looked  up,  and  beheld  h»-r  in 
the  grasp  of  an  Indian  \v;mic>r.  Instinctively  I 
recoiled  behind  a  thick  bush,  where  I  satinbn  ath- 
less  silence,  keeping  my  eye  fixed  on  the  savage, 
who,  not  having  discovered  me,  began  to  retreat 
with  his  terrified  prisoner  in  his  arms.  Poor 
child  !  I  shall  never  forget  the  dreadful  screams 
whieh  she  uttered — until  the  Indian,  placing  his 
hand  on  her  mouth  and  menacing  with  his  knife, 
gave  her  to  understand  that  he  would  kill  her 
unless  she  ceased  to  cry.  Nor  shall  I  ever  tail  to 
remember  my  own  agony  when  1  saw  her  borne 
a\\ay  sobbing,  stretching  out  her  little  arms,  and 
gazing  wildly  towards  her  home  for  the  last  time. 
What  rage  and  grief  filled  my  young  heart  as  1 
witnessed  her  pangs,  and  felt  my  own  impotence 
— as  the  most  beloved  object  in  existence  was  torn 
from  me,  while  1  could  neither  prevent  nor  revenge 
the  violence. 

No  sooner  was  the  savage  out  of  sight,  than  I 
started  up  and  hurried  to  the  house,  taking  care 
to  follow  the  most  concealed  path,  and  tre 


THE  PIONEER.  47 

with  the  stealthy  caution  of  the  prowler  of  the 
night.  My  uncle  was  not  at  home,  and  my  poor 
mother — my  widowed,  mourning  mother,  whose 
infants  were  all  that  were  left  to  her  in  this  world 
— words  cannot  describe  the  acuteness  of  the  grief 
with  which  she  was  overwhelmed.  But  she  acted 
with  courage  and  prudence  :  displaying,  in  this 
moment  of  affliction,  a  self-possession  which  never 
forsook  her  under  any  circumstances.  After  my 
father's  death,  I  was  perhaps  the  dearest  object  of 
her  affection.  She  felt  at  that  moment  the  senti- 
ment expressed  by  the  patriarch  of  Israel :  "  If  I 
be  bereaved  of  my  children,  1  am  bereaved." 
Apprehending  that  the  Indians  still  hovered  around 
the  dwelling,  and  would  soon  appear  to  complete 
their  ferocious  purpose,  she  closed  the  door  and 
placed  the  heaviest  articles  of  furniture  against  it, 
determined  to  defend  herself  to  the  last,  She 
said  to  me,  "  Your  father  is  dead,  your  sister  is 
gone,  and  you  are  all  that  is  left  to  me — I  must 
save  your  life  if  1  lose  my  own ;"  and  then  raising 
one  of  the  puncheons  which  formed  the  floor,  she 
thrust  me  under  it,  and  charging  me  to  lie  still, 
and  neither  move  nor  speak — whatever  might 
happen — restored  the  puncheon  to  its  place.  The 
floor  was  sufficiently  open  to  enable  me  to  see 
what  passed,  and  sometimes  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  actors.  It  was  now  past  sunset.  In  a  few 
minutes  the  Indians  came  to  the  door,  and  at- 


48  THE  PIO> 

tempted  to  force  their  way  in  ;  but  my  n 
having  a  loaded  rifle,  presented  it  through  a 
creueo  of  the  logs,  upon  which  they  retired, 
uttering  as  they  went  the  most  horrible 
They  soon  returned,  bearing  lighted  torches, 
which  they  threw  upon  the  roof — in  a  few  mi- 
nnti-s  the  house  was  in  Jlanies — the  rifle  dropped 
ln»m  my  mutln-r's  hands,  and,  before  she  could 
determine  what  to  do,  the  door  was  burst  open, 
and  she  uas  dragged  out.  Tin-  savages,  finding 
no  other  nhjrct  upon  which  to  vent  their  fury, 
departed,  e;m  \  in_i  !HT  v.  ith  them. 

1  e;mnot  pretend  to  convey  any  adequate  idea 
of  my  own  emotions  during  this  scene.  The  loss 
of  m\  little  MStef  had  gOQfl  to  ni\  heart — the 
self-possession  and  energy  of  my  mother  had 
a\\akened  my  admiration — and  in  the  tumult  of 
other  feelings,  my  own  danger  had  scarcely  been 
the  subject  of  a  thought.  I  was  naturally  bold; 
and  1  was  not  given  to  the  indulgence  of  > 
reflections.  But  what  a  moment  of  horror  wa- 
it, when  the  house  was  fired,  and  the  savages 
rushed  in!  When  they  laid  their  brutal  hands 
upon  my  mother,  1  experienced  a  sensation  of 
agony  such  as  I  had  never  known  before.  How 
sacred  is  the  person  of  a  mother  !  What  pure 
and  hallowed  atlections  dim:  around  her  !  \N  hat 
sacrilege  in  the  eyes  of  a  sound  hearted  child,  is 
an  act  of  violence  against  that  parent,  whose  sex 


THE  PIONEER.  4$ 

daims  the  respect  of  her  son,  while  her  tender- 
ness, her  watchful  solicitude,  her  devotion,  her 
maternal  pride,  have  entwined  a  thousand  fond 
associations  among  the  tendrils  of  his  heart. 
Besides  that  intuitive  love,  which  every  mother 
kindles  in  the  bosom  of  her  offspring  even  before 
the  will  begins  to  exist,  1  had  learned,  young  as  I 
was,  to  reverence  mine  on  account  of  her  supe- 
rior worth.  Devoted  to  her  children,  I  had  wit- 
nessed more  than  one  instance  of  her  self-denial, 
which  had  penetrated  my  heart.  I  had  seen  her 
on  several  occasions  display  a  degree  of  calmness 
in  the  presence  of  danger,  and  of  patient  fortitude 
under  extreme  suffering,  which  amounted;  in  my 
eyes,  to  heroism.  I  had  beheld  her  widowed  and 
in  sorrow ;  and  had  begun  to  look  forward  to  the 
time  when  I  should  be  her  protector.  I  had  seen 
the  involuntary  tear  trickling  secretly  down  her 
cheek,  arid  had  listened,  deeply  affected,  to  the 
midnigtft  prayer  for  her  children,  intended  for  the 
ear  of  Him  only  to  whom  it  was  addressed.  A 
deed  of  violence  perpetrated  towards  any  other 
woman,  would  have  struck  me  as  brutal, — but 
there  was  a  sacredness  thrown  around  the  person 
of  my  mother  which  gave  to  this  proceeding  a 
character  of  desecration.  When  I  saw  her 
forced  away,  1  struggled  to  release  myself  from 
my  confinement — 1  screamed — but  the  shouts  of 
the  infuriated  incendiaries  drowned  my  cries. 
5 


50  THE  PIONEER. 

The  flames  were  raging  over  my  head,  but  1 
thought  alone  of  my  mother.  The  love  of  life 
was  smothered  by  more  powerful  emotions,  and  I 
only  wished  to  share  her  captivity,  or  to  die  in 
her  arms. 

The  sounds  of  war  died  away.  1  no  longer 
heard  the  footsteps  of  men,  nor  the  yells  of  ven- 
geance. The  crackling  of  flames  over  my  head, 
and  the  falling  of  firebrands  upon  the  floor  under 
which  1  was  lying,  alone  met  my  ear.  I  was 
confused  and  stupefied  by  the  ferocious  deeds  I 
had  witnessed.  A  vague  sense  of  my  own  danger 
began  to  stir  within  me.  I  looked  round,  and 
discovered  that  the  space  between  the  floor  and 
the  ground  was  snllicient  to  allow  me  room  to 
<  ia\\l  «»ut.  I  crept  from  beneath  the  blazing  pile, 
and  found  myself  the  sole  spectator  of  that  heart- 
rending scene  of  desolation.  The  perpetrators  of 
that  dark  drrd  of  aggression  against  the  widow 
and  the  orphan,  had  fled  with  their  captives. 
The  flames  were  consuming  the  home  which  had 
sheltered  me  all  the  years  of  my  existence  of 
which  I  had  any  recollection — where  I  had 
l»la\eil  with  my  little  sister,  and  had  so  often 
fallen  asleep  with  my  head  upon  my  mother's 
bosom,  and  .felt  her  warm  kiss  upon  my  lips,  and 
had  been  awakend  in  the  morning  by  her  caresses. 
Here,  morning  and  evening,  had  we  knelt  by  her 
side,  with  our  little  hands  pressed  in  hers,  as  she 


THE  PIONEER.  51 

prayed  God  to  protect  the  bereaved  and  the  help- 
less.  A  gush  of  tenderness  overwhelmed  my 
heart,  as  the  contemplation  of  my  own  desolate 
wretchedness  contrasted  itself  with  past  endear- 
ments. Around  me  was  the  darkness  of  the~ 
night,  rendered  more  black  by  the  brightness  of 
the  fire.  I  ran  to  my  father's  grave — for  I  could 
not  resist  the  conviction  that  the  spirits  of  my 
murdered  mother  and  sister  .would  hover  over  a 
spot  which  was  so  sacred  to  us  all.  All  was 
silent  here.  The  hand  of  the  murderer,  though 
it  may  strike  terror  into  the  heart  of  the  living, 
cannot  disturb  the  repose  of  the  dead.  I  threw 
myself  on  the  ground.  The  reflection  that  I  was 
alone  in  the  world  became  almost  insupportable — 
tears  came  to  my  relief — 1  wept  bitterly. 

In  a  little  while  I  recovered  my  composure.  I 
had  been  reared  in  habits  which  were  not  cal- 
culated to  enervate  my  faculties ;  on  the  contrary,  1 
was  thoughtful  and  daring.  The  idea  occurred  to 
me  that  my  mother  and  sister  might  still  be 
living,  and  could  be  rescued  from  captivity.  No 
sooner  had  this  thought  flashed  upon  my  mind, 
than  I  rushed,  regardless  of  my  own  safety, 
towards  the  house  of  our  nearest  neighbour.  It 
was  two  miles  distant;  but  1  was  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  the  path,  and  proceeded  with  a 
speed  which  soon  brought  me  to  the  place.  Pale, 
trembling,  and  in  tears,  1  presented  myself  before 


52  TIM:  PIONEER. 

the  astonished  family,  unable,  at  first,  to  articulate 
any  thing  but  the  word  "  Indians !"  • 

The  effect  produced  by  this  alarming  name,  so 
often  heard,  and  so  fraught  with  danger,  was 
instantaneous.  All  started  up  and  prepared  for 
defence.  The  doors  were  closed,  and  the  rilles 
grasped.  Consternation  was  painted  on  every 
face  ;  but  the  men  evinced  a  martial  bearing,  in 
the  alacrity  with  whjch  they  subdued  their  appre- 
hensions, and  flew  to  arms.  When  I  told  my 
tale,  however,  in  broken  fragments,  but  intelligi- 
bly enough  for  the  comprehension  of  those  who 
were  accustomed  to  such  recitals,  and  it  was 
rendered  probable  that  the  savages  were  already 
on  their  retreat,  a  different  direction  was  given  to 
the  feelings  of  this  worthy  family.  Its  head,  a 
strong,  muscular  man,  slow,  heavy,  and  appa- 
rently indolent,  seemed  to  be  irispired  with  a  new 
life. 

"  We  must  be  after  them,  boys,"  said  he,  "  they 

haint  got  much  start  of  us,  no  how — there'll  be  a 

nice   fresh   trail    in   the    morning   that   can't   be 

1,  and  we  can  out  travel  the  varmints,  let 

Vm  do  their  best." 

"  John  !"  exclaimed  the  wife,  "  you're  a  good 
soul  !  I  wish  I  was  a  man,  and  could  go  along. 
Can't  you  go  to-night?  Poor  Sally  Robinson — 
she'll  suffer  a  heap  of  misery  before  morning — the 
distressed  creetur !" 


THE  PIONEER.  53 

"  Its  no  use  to  try  to  hunt  Indians  in  the  night," 
replied  the  man ;  "  and  besides,  it  will  take  'til 
morning  to  get  the  neighbours  warned  in." 

"  Don't  cry,  Billy,"  said  the  woman,  putting 
her  arms  round  my  neck,  and  kissing  me  affection- 
ately, "  don't  cry,  my  little  man — they'll  bring 
your  mammy  back  afore  to-morrow  night — no 
mistake  about  that — its  mighty  hard  for  Indians 
to  get  away  from  our  people.  You  shall  sleep 
with  my  little  boys,  and  be  my  son,  'til  your 
mammy  comes  back." 

The  backwoodsman  now  directed  several  young 
men,  his  sons  and  others,  who  were  present,  to 
mount  their  horses  and  spread  the  alarm  through 
the  neighbourhood,  and  to  summon  all  the  men 
to  meet  at  his  house  the  next  morning.  The 
young  fellows  caught  his  ardour,  and  in  a  few- 
minutes  were  dashing  off,  through  the  woods,  in 
different  directions. 

There  was  little  sleep  among  the  inmates  of 
this  cabin  on  that  eventful  night.  The  children 
were  afraid  to  go  to  bed.  The  man  of  the  house, 
whose  name  was  Hickman,  aware  of  the  necessity 
of  husbanding  all  his  powers  for  the  approaching 
chase,  which  might  last  several  days,  threw  him- 
self down  in  his  clothes,  and  soon  appeared  to 
slumber.  His  wife  sat  by  the  fire,  sighing,  pour- 
ing out  bitter  anathemas  upon  the  Indians,  and 
giving  utterance  to  her  lively  sympathy  in  the 


54  TIH:  PIONEER. 

afflictions  of  her  neighbour,  while  the  children 
crowded  around  her,  squatted  upon  the  floor  with 
their  hare  feet  gathered  under  them,  each  cling- 
ing to  some  part  of  her  dress,  gazing  at  one 
another  in  mute  terror,  or  asking  questions  in 
whispered  and  tremulous  accents  about  the  sa- 
vages ; — and  nil  of  them  in  turns  casting  glances 
of  pity  at  myself,  as  1  sat,  sometimes  weeping 
bitterly,  and  at  other  times  staring  in  tearless 
agony  at  the  terrified  ^mup.  At  intervals,  the 
kind-hearted  matron  would  articulate  my  mo- 
thers name,  accompanied  by  passsionate  expres- 
sions of  grief  and  affection. 

"  Poor  Sally  Robinson !  she  has  had  her  own 
troubles,  poor  thing  !  And  she  sich  a  good  cree- 
tnr !  1 1  \\ as  >..rr<  »u lul  enough  to  be  a  lone  woman, 
— and  her  man  murdered  the  way  he  was,  right 
before  her  » -\  es,  as  a  body  may  say  !  The  dear 
knows  how  she  did  to  stand  it !  Law,  children, 
don't  pull  my  gownd  so, — you'll  tear  ever}'  stitch 
of  clothes  off  of  my  back.  What  are  you  afeard 
of!  the  Indians  aint  comin'  here,  no  how, — the 
varmints — they  know  better  than  for  to  go  where 
there's  men  about  the  house,  'drot  their  vile  skins 
the  'bominable  riff- raff  cowardly  scum  of  creation  ! 
they  haint  got  the  hearts  of  men,  no  ho\v  !  the\ 
haint  no  more  courage  nor  a  burnt  cracklin,  no 
way  they  can  tix  it !  Poor  Sally  !  ah  me  ! — and 
the  dear  child — the  poor,  poor  little  child  !" 


THE  PIONEER.  55 

"  Did  the  Indians  kill  little  Sue,  mammy  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  child— they  carried  her  off,  and 
Him  that's  above  only  knows  what  has  become  of 
her.  And  they  have  burnt  the  very  roof  over  the 
heads  of  them  that  had  no  one  to  take  care  of 
them." 

"Did  they  burn  Miss  Robinson's  house  up, 
mammy  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  they  did — the  cabin,  and  a  beau- 
tiful piece  of  cloth  that  she  had  in  the  loom,  and 
all  the  plunder  that  the  poor  thing  has  been  scrapin 
together  by  the  work  of  her  own  hands." 

"  Mammy, — " 

«  Hush,  what's  that  ?" 

Then  they  would  all  crowd  together  and  listen. 

"  It's  daddy  snoring." 

It  was  past  midnight  when  the  tramping  of  a 
horse  was  heard  rapidly  approaching.  The  dogs 
barked  fiercely,  as  if  conscious  of  the  necessity  of 
unusual  vigilance,  and  then  ceased  all  at  once.  A 
loud  voice  called,  "  Who  keeps  house  ?" 

Those  who  were  sitting  up  were  afraid  to  move  ; 
but  Mr.  Hickman,  accustomed  to  awake  at  the 
slightest  alarm,  started  up,  and  proceeded,  with 
his  gun  in  his  hand,  to  open  the  door  cautiously. 
My  uncle  entered.  He  had  heard  the  rumour 
vaguely  repeated,  had  hurried  home,  and  found,  in 
the  smoking  embers  of  his  dwelling,  a  fatal  con- 
firmation of  his  worst  fears. 


56  THE  PIONEER. 

Between  that  time  and  the  dawn  of  day  the 
neighbours  poured  in,  all  armed,  and  prepared  to 
pursue  the  Indians.  Some  were  ready  for  action : 
others,  who  had  repaired  more  hastily  to  the 
rendezvous,  upon  the  moment  of  receiving  the 
summons,  now  employed  themselves  in  wiping  out 
their  guns,  cleaning  the  locks,  changing  the  flints, 
ami  supplying  their  pouches  with  all  the  munitions 
required  for  several  days'  service.  Mr.  Hickman 
seemed  to  be  tacitly  agreed  upon  as  the  leader. 
1  watched  all  his  motions,  and,  young  as  I  was, 
saw  with  admiration  the  coolness  and  precision 
with  which  he  made  his  arrangements.  He  exa- 
mined every  part  of  his  rifle  with  the  most  severe 
scrutiny.  He.  placed  a  handful  of  bullets  on  t he- 
table,  and  passed  them  rapidly  through  his  fingers, 
one  by  one,  to  ascertain  that  they  were  pert't  <  tl\ 
round  and  smooth,  rejecting  those  that  were  in 
the  slii:ht« M  degree  defective.  His  flints  and 
patches  underwent  the  same  close  inspection. 
The  tomahawk  and  knife  were  placed  in  his  belt 
— then  withdrawn  and  placed  again — until  the 
wary  pioneer  was  satisfied  that  each  was  so  ar- 
ranged as  to  l>e  capable  of  being  quickly  grasped 
by  the  hand,  in  case  of  sudden  need,  and  so  secured 
as  not  to  be  liable  to  be  lost  while  the  rider  \\a> 
dashing  rapidly  through  the  bushes.  Grave  and 
taciturn  all  tin.'  time,  he  was  as  cool  as  if  preparing 
for  a  hunt. 


THE  PIONEER.  57 

His  wife  hung  round  him  during  these  opera- 
tions,— now  officiously  tendering  her  services — 
now  leaning  on  his  shoulder,  and  speaking  to  him 
in  a  low  voice, — then  retiring,  as  if  overcome  by 
her  fears,  and  sometimes  secretly  wiping  away  a 
tear  with  the  corner  of  her  apron. 

"  John,"  she  would  say,  "  you  won't  lose  no  time, 
I  hope.  Poor  Sally !  she  will  be  mighty  bad  off 
'till  she  sees  you  comin — it's  sich  a  dreadful  bad 
fix  for  any  body  to  be  in." 

"  We  sha'nt  be  long,  I  reckon." 

"  Take  mighty  good  care  of  yourself,  John — 
you  know,  dear,  what  a  poor  broken-hearted  body 
I'd  be  without  you.  Don't  ride  Ball, — you  know 
he  stumbles  powerful  bad,  and  falls  down  some- 
times— and  his  sight's  so  bad,  he  aint  no  account, 
no  how,  in  the  night." 

"  I  shall  ride  Dick — no  mistake  in  him." 

"  No  two  ways  about  Dick,"  reiterated  the  wife  ; 
"  boys,  go  and  feed  Dick,  and  clean  him,  and  fix 
him  good  for  your  daddy  to  ride.  And,  John, 
when  you  get  up  to  the  miserable  varmints,  don't 
be  too  ambitious — you  know  you're  apt  to  be  sort 
o'  quick  when  you're  raised — don't  be  too  brash ; 
if  you  can  only  get  poor  Sally  Robinson  away 
from  them,  don't  run  no  risks.  You  don't  reckon 
you'll  have  to  fight  with  them,  do  you?" 

"  It's  a  little  mixed,"  replied  the  husband. 

"  It  would  be  a  droll  way  to  hunt  Indians,  and 


58  THE  PIONEER. 

not  kill  any  of  them,"    interrupted  one   of  the 
party. 

"  I'll  be  dogged  if  I  don't  save  one  of  them," 
added  another. 

"  I  allow  to  use  up  one  or  two,"  continued  a 
third. 

"I'll  never  agree  to  return  'til  we  use  up  the 
whole  gang — stock,  lock,  and  barrel,"  added  ano- 
ther. .  . 

" They  are  the  darndest  puteranimous  \\\ 
gn  the  face  of  the  whole  y earth — and  1  go  in  for 
puttin  the  pewter  to  'ern,  accordin'  to  law,"  chimed 
in  a  little  dried  up  old  man,  who  was  whetting  his 
knit!'  against  the  side  nf  the  lire-place,  and  looking 
as  savage  #s  a  mrat-axe.  It  was  very  obvious 
that  the  Indians  would  get  no  quarter. 

At  daylight  the  party  began  to  mount.  All 
completely  equipped.  I'ndrr  every  saddle 
was  a  blanket,  to  save  tin*  Imrse's  back — behind  it 
was  tied  either  a  great  coat  or  a  blanket  to  sleep 
in — on  this  was  lashed  a  wallet,  containing  several 
provisions,  and  a  tin  cup  dangled  on  the  top 
of  the  whole.  Each  man  carried  a  good  ritle,  in 
complete  order,  and  had  a  knife  and  a  tomahawk 
in  his  belt.  Their  legs  were  covered,  to  protect 
them  from  the  briars,  with  dressed  deer-skin — not 
made  into  any  irannent,  but  rolled  tightly  round 
the  limb  and  tied  with  strings.  Some  wore  shoes, 
others  moccasins — some  had  hats,  others  rejected 


THE  PIONEER.  59 

this  covering,  and  wore  only  a  cotton  handkerchief 
bound  closely  round  the  head.  When  mounted 
they  bade  adieu  to  their  friends,  and  set  out  in 
high  spirits — not  observing  any  particular  order 
of  march  at  first,  but  falling  gradually  into  the 
single  file,  as  the  most  convenient  arrangement 
for  passing  rapidly  through  the  forest. 

Towards  evening  two  of  the  party  returned. 
They  brought  the  clothes  of  my  sister  which  had 
been  found  by  the  way,  near  the  bank  of  the  Ohio, 
torn  and  bloody,  but  yet  in  a  state  to  be  identified. 
There  was  other  evidence,  abundant  and  conclu- 
sive, that  the  poor  child  had  been  murdered,  and 
her  body  thrown  into  the  river.  I  cannot  express 
the  poignancy  of  my  sensations  on  receiving  the 
intelligence  of  this  catastrophe.  1  had,  until  now, 
sustained  my  spirits  by  the  hope  of  her  escape.  I 
would  not  believe  that  even  a  savage  could  wan- 
tonly give  pain,  much  less  inflict  death,  upon  my 
innocent  companion— a  sweet,  rosy,  laughing  girl. 
A  girl !  a  little  girl — 1  could  not  imagine  it  pos- 
sible that  any  human  creature,  with  the  form  of 
manhood,  would  touch  the  life  of  a  thing  so 
winning,  so  gentle,  so  helpless.  1  dreamed  away 
the  day  in  painful  excitement — in  feverish  visions 
of  hope  and  fear ;  but  when  the  truth  came  I  sunk 
down  in  an  agony*  of  grief  and  horror.  I  had  not 
realised  the  possibility  of  a  catastrophe  so  terrible. 

Another  day  was  drawing  near  to  a  close.     I 


(10  i  in:  PIONEER. 

was   withering  under   the  pressure  of  affliction. 

(irirf,  watching,  excitement,  and  loss  of  app 
had  produced  a  bodily  exhaustion,  attended  with 
extreme  nervon>  >eu<ihility.  I  had  wandered  off 
hy  myself,  and  came,  I  hardly  know  how,  to  the 
blackened  ruins  of  our  cal»in.  I  seated  myself 
under  a  tree,  in  tli  'ed  yard.  It  was  a 

bright  calm  evening  ;  the  sun  was  sinking  towards 
tin-  hori/.on,  and  the  long  shadows  of  the  forest 
extended  o\er  tin*  spot.  The  cool  air  fanned  my 
burnini:  hn>w,  and  brought  a  momentary  sense  of 
relief  from  pain.  Before  me  was  a  silent 'heap  of 
ashes — but  all  else  won-  the  air  of  home.  A  few 
fruit  lives  that  stood  x-attrrrd  around,  were  m 
full  blossom,  and  tin?  UTS  \\trc  hummiiiir  busily 
among  the  llowers — the  birds  sang,  and  the  do- 
nu-tic  animals  seemed  t<»  \^  :  ,\  return. 

The  cow,  that    had    ;  umnilked. 

me — the  pii:s  ran  to  meet  in'- — 
and  the  fo\vl>  gathered  about  the  place  wl.  ' 
sat,  as  if  they  r  r  whose  protec- 

tion had  lx?eu  withdrawn  from  them.  Oh  !  how 
many  ties  there  are  to  bind  the  soul  to  earth1 
\\hen  the  stronin-st  are  cut  asunder,  and  the 
spirit  feels  itself  cast  loose  from  every  bond  winch 
connects  it  with  mortality,  bow  imperceptibly 
does  one  little  tendril  after  another  become  en- 
twined about  it,  and  draw  it  b:ick  \\ith  [ 
violence!  lie  who  thinks  he  has  but  one  i 


THE  PIONEER.  61 

always  mistaken.  The  heart  may  have  one 
overmastering  affection,  more  powerful  than  all 
the  rest,  which,  like  the  main  root  of  the  tree,  is 
that  which  supports  it ;  but  if  that  be  cut  away,  it 
will  find  a  thousand  minute  fibres  still  clinging  to 
the  soil  of  humanity.  An  absorbing  passion  may 
fill  up  the  soul,  and  while  it  lasts,  may  throw  a 
shade  over  the  various  obligations,  and  the  infinite 
multitudes  of  little  kindnesses,  and  tender  associa- 
tions, that  bind  us  to  mankind  ;  but  when  that 
fades,  these  are  seen  to  twinkle  in  the  firmament 
of  life,  as  the  stars  shine,  after  the  sun  has  gone 
down.  Even  the  brute,  and  the  lilies  of  the  field, 
that  neither  toil  nor  spin,  put  in  their  silent  claims  ; 
and  the  heart  that  would  have  spurned  the  world, 
settles  quietly  down  again  upon  its  bosom.  A 
moment  before,  I  was  in  despair ; — and  now  I  was 
caressing  the  dumb  animals  around  me.  They 
seemed  like  friends;  and  a  something  like  joy 
revived  within  me,  as  I  reflected  that  I  was  not 
entirely  forsaken.  I  raised  my  eyes  and  my 
heart  to  Heaven,  with  a  feeling  of  thanksgiving, 
and  melted  into  tenderness. 

I  looked  up  and  gazed  around  me.  In  the 
edge  of  the  forest,  an  object  attracted  my  atten- 
tion. It  was  the  dim  and  shadowy  representation 
of  a  human  figure.  It  moved  ;  and  then  seemed 
to  lean  against  a  tree ;  again  it  moved,  and  halted. 
Could  it  be  an  Indian?  Was  the  savage  thirst 
6 


62  THE  PIONEER. 

for  blood  not  yet  sated?  Were  they  not  to  be 
satisfied  until  all,  even  the  last,  of  my  unhappy 
family,  should  have  fallen  under  the  tomahawk  ? 
I  did  not  fly  :  I  would  not  have  moved  from  that 
spot  had  a  myriad  of  savages  appeared, — a  legion 
of  devils  could  not  have  daunted  my  spirit  in  that 
moment  of  stubborn-  desperation.  The  figure 
moved  along  under  the  shade  of  a  long  point  of 
timber,  which  approached  td  within  a  few  yards 
of  the  house — advancing,  and  then  halting,  cau- 
tiously as  an  insidious  enemy,  or  painfully  like  a 
friend,  who  came  the  bearer  of  unwelcome  tidings. 
I  watched  it  with  intense  interest,  until  it  came 
near,  and  stepped  from  under  the  woody  covert, 
which  had  rendered  the  form  indistinct, — and 
then  I  recognised,  with  unerring  instinct,  the 
person  of  my  mother.  I  rushed  towards  her,  and 
in  a  moment  was  in  her  arms.  1  gazed  at  her 
with  an  overwhelming 'gush  of  joy  and  fondness—- 
but, oh  !  how  changed,  how  wretched  was  she  I 
Her  bare  feet  were  torn  and  bloody — her  clothes 
were  tattered  into  shreds — her  eyes  red — her 
face  pale  and  emaciated — her  frame  exhausted 
with  fatigue.  After  being  driven  forward  a  whole 
day,  she  had  effected  her  escape  in  the  night,  and 
had  wandered  back  to  the  home  which  had  been 
desolated  by  the  ruthless  hand  of  the  murderer  and 
incendiary.  With  my  assistance  she  was  enabled, 
with  much  difficulty,  to  crawl  to  the  house  of  our 

• 


THE  PIONEER.  63 

kind  neighbour,  where  she  sunk  down  under  her 
bodily  and  mental  sufferings,  and  remained  some 
days  dangerously  ill. 

The  party  who  had  gone  to  her  assistance,  had 
missed  her  on  the  way,  but  .had  overtaken  the 
Indians,  and  attacked  them  with  such  spirit,  that 
one  half  the  savages  were  slain  in  the  first  onset. 

o 

The  remainder  dispersed,  and  found  safety  in 
flight. 

We  did  not  return  to  the  spot  which  had  proved 
so  calamitous  to  our  unhappy  family,  but  removed 
to  a  place  which  was  supposed  to  be  less  exposed 
to  danger.  1  had  now  no  companion.  The  loss 
of  my  little  sister  preyed  upon  my  spirits.  She 
was  continually  the  subject  of  my  thoughts.  I 
often  sat  for  hours  together  absorbed  in  visionary 
speculations,  founded  upon  the  possibility  of  my 
sister's  escape  from  death.  As  is  the  case  with 
all  dreamers,  I  did  not  examine  the  evidence  for 
the  purpose  of  learning  the  truth,  nor  did  I  permit 
the  certainty  of  the  catastrophe  which  had  be- 
fallen her  to  interfere  with  my  theories ;  but 
assuming  the  premises  which  were  necessary,  I 
proceeded  to  erect  an  airy  superstructure,  and  to 
luxuriate  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  "  baseless  fabric 
of  a  vision."  I  exercised  my  ingenuity  in  imagin- 
ing a  variety  of  modes  in  which  she  might  have 
escaped  from  her  captors,  fancied  for  her  some 
present  state  of  existence,  under  the  protection  of 


64  THE  PIONEER. 

kind  benefactors,  and  realised  the  joy  of  her  sud- 
den and  un<;\|)rrt<-d  restoration.  Sometimes  I 
supposed  her  to  be  living  in  captivity,  and  fancied 
myself  leading  an  armed  party  to  her  rescue — 
I  went  through  all  the  stratagems  and  perils 
of  border  warfare — signalised  myself  by  a  series 
of  acts  of  almost  miraculous  daring — delivered 
my  beloved  sister  fnmi  bondage,  and  filled  the 
heart  of  my  bereaved  mother  with  joy  and  pride. 
When  I  slept,  the  same  fancies  were  ever  present. 
I  strolled  about  with  my  sister,  embarrassed  by 
the  endeavour  to  reconcile  the  appearances  of  my 
dream  with  the  facts  indelibly  engraved  upon  my 
memory.  Sometimes  she  sat  by  me,  with  her 
hand  clasped  in  mine,  and  narrated  a  series  of 
adventures,  which  she  had  passed  through  since 
our  parting;  but  more  frequently ^ she  seemed  to 
laugh  at  my  credulity,  and  pronounced  our  misfor- 
tunes to  have  been  all  a  dream.  Often  did  I 
awake  in  tears. 

As  I  grew  older,  my  tenderness  began  to  give 
way  to  sterner  feelings.  Accustomed  to  fear  the 
Indians  from  infancy,  I  began  at  last  to  hate  them 
with  intense  malignity.  I  had  never  heard  them 
spoken  of  but  as  enemies,  to  extirpate  whom  was 
a  duty.  I  had  been  taught  to  consider  the  si; 
of  an  Indian,  as  an  act  of  praiseworthy  public 
spirit.  As  my  sorrow  for  the  sufferings  of  those 
who  were  dear  to  me  began  to  harden  into  indig- 


THE  PIONEER.  65 

nation,  the  desire  of  revenge  was  kindled  in  my 
bosom.  This  feeling  was  rapidly  developed,  be- 
cause it  was  the  only  one  connected  with  my 
reveries  which  I  could  trace  out  to  any  practical 
result.  I  could  not  bring  my  sister  to  life,  nor 
dispel  the  cloud  of  grief  from  the  face  of  my 
widowed  mother  :  but  I  could  strike  the  savage,  I 
could  burn  his  dwelling,  and  desolate  his  fireside, 
as  he  had  desolated  mine.  This  passion  soon 
gained  a  predominating  mastery  over  my  mind — 
as  a  rank  weed  shoots  up  and  overshadows  those 
around  it,  the  desire  of  revenge  struck  deep  its 
roots,  grew  rapidly  into  vigour,  and  smothered 
the  better  emotions  of  my  heart. 

I  procured  a  gun,  and  began  to  roam  the  forest. 
In  this  country  boys  are  permitted,  at  an  early 
age,  to  mingle  in  the  sports  of  men,  and  my  pro- 
pensity for  hunting  did  not  excite  any  particular 
remark.  The  hunters  sometimes  took  me  with 
them  ;  but  more  often  I  wandered  about  alone.  I 
soon  learned  to  shoot  with  precision,  and  became 
expert  in  many  of  the  devices  of  the  backwoods- 
man. 

When  I  was  about  twelve  years  old,  a  village 
was  laid  out  in  the  neighbourhood  in  which  we 
then  resided.  The  country  was  settling  rapidly  ; 
several  wealthy  families  from  Virginia  were 
among  the  emigrants ;  the  frontier  had  been 
6* 


66  mi:  PIONEER. 

further  west,  and  with  it  had  rolled  the  tide  of 
war.  Society  began  to  be  organised,  and  many 
of  the  luxuries  of  social  life  were  introduced. 
Among  other  improvements  was  a  school,  con- 
ducted by  a  person  of  some  erudition,  who  brought 
with  him  a  good  many  books,  and  was  looked 
upon  as  a  prodigy  of  knowledge. 

I  was  sent  to  school ;  entered  upon  my*  studies 
with  eagerness,  and  made  rapid  advances  in  learn- 
ing. With  a  mind  naturally  inquisitive,  and  ac- 
customed to  rely  upon  itself,  I  had  no  difficulty  in 
mastering  any  task  which  was  given  me,  and  soon 
became  fond  of  reading.  My  teacher  had  in  his 
possession  a  number  of  volumes  of  history,  which 
f  jKJruscd  with  avidity.  A  few  classics,  which 
fell  into  my  hands,  I  read  over  and  over,  with  the 
delight  of  a  newly  awakened  admiration.  .  I  com- 
menced the  study  of  the  Latin  language,  and 
gained  a  slight  acquaintance  with  the  mythology 
and  history  of  the  ancients.  In  three  years,  my 
character  was  much  changed  ;  my  mind  was  en- 
larged, my  affections  softened,  and  the  tone  of  my 
morals  considerably  ameliorated.  I  still  loved  my 
gun,  and  indulged  my  propensity  for  wandering  in 
the  forest ;  while  my  hatred  of  the  Indians,  and 
that  thirst  for  vengeance  over  which  I  had  so  long 
brooded,  were  by  no  means  blunted  by  the  perusal 
of  those  histories,  in  which  the  recitals  of  military 
daring  form  a  prominent  part,  and  martial  accom- 


THE  PIONEER.  67 

plishments  are  held  up  as  exemplary  virtues 
worthy  of  the  highest  admiration. 

I  was  little  more  than  fifteen  years  of  age,  when 
a  number  of  the  poorer  families  in  the  neighbour- 
hood formed  a  party  for  the  purpose  of  removing 
to  the  settlements  upon  the  Mississippi,  in  Illinois 
— a  new  country,  which  just  then  began  to  be 
spoken  of.  My  uncle  and  mother  determined  to 
accompany  them.  I  know., not  what  infatuation 
induced  them  to  brave  again  the  perils  of  the 
wilderness,  after  all  their  fatal  experience.  It  is 
probable  that  their  only  inducement  was  that  love 
of  new  lands,  of  fresh  wild  scenery,  and  of  the 
unconstrained  habits  of  border  life,  which  forms  a 
ruling  passion  with  the  people  of  the  backwoods, 
and  which  no  chastening  from  the  hand  of  adver- 
sity can  eradicate. 

The  only  settlements  of  the  Americans  in  Illi- 
nois, at  that  time,  were  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
the  French  villages,  which  were  scattered  along 
the  American  Bottom,  on  the  Mississippi,  from 
Kaskaskia  to  the  vicinity  of  St.  Louis.  We 
embarked  in  two  large  boats;  and,  after -floating 
quietly  down  the  Ohio  to  the  Mississippi,  began 
to  ascend  that  wonderful  river,  proceeding  slowly 
against  its  powerful  current.  Sometimes  a  fail- 
wind  invited  us  to  hoist  our  sails,  and  enabled  us 
for  a  while  to  move  forward  without  labour ;  but 
usually  our  boats  were  pushed  with  poles,  by  the 


68  THE  PIONEER. 

most  severe  manual  exertion.  To  get  forward  at 
all  in  opposition  to  the  current,  it  was  necessary 
to  creep  along  close  to  the  shore.  But  there 
were  places  where  it  became  impossible  to  make 
any  headway  even  by  this  method :  where  the 
bank  was  perpendicular,  the  water  too  deep  to 
allow  the  use  of  poles,  and  the  headlong  stream 
>\\  i-|»t  foaming  against  the  shore.  In  such  emer- 
gencies it  was  impossible  to  proceed,  except  by 
means  of  the  cordelle,  a  strong  cable  attached  to 
the  boat,  by  which  the  boatmen,  walking  on  the 
shore,  dragged  it  past  these  dangerous  places. 
The  shores,  on  both  sides,  were  inhabited  by 
Indians,  and  our  labours  were  rendered  the  more 
burthensome,  by  the  necessity  of  keeping  up  a 
continual  watch  to  prevent  surprise. 

One  day  we  reached  a  place  where  the  river  is 
closely  hemmed  in  by  rock  on  either  side,  and  the 
stream,  confined  within  a  more  narrow  space  than 
it  usually  occupies,  rushes  with  great  impetuosity 
through  the  strait.  It  is  one  of  the  most  difficult 
passes  on  the  riyer  for  ascending  boats.  Here,  of 
course,  neither  oars  nor  poles  could  be  of  any 
avail,  and  arrangements  were  made  for  using  the 
con  I  t-llc.  My  uncle  and  mother  were  in  the  fore- 
most borft — I  had  happened  to  be,  for  the  moment, 
in  the  other,  which,  by  some  accident,  was  de- 
tained, so  as  to  fall  a  short  distance  into  the  rear. 
The  leading  boat  passed  round  a  little  point  of 


THE  PIONEER.  69 

land,  which  concealed  it  from  our  view,  and 
immediately  afterwards  we  heard  the  reports  of 
several  rifles.  The  Indians  had  formed  an  am- 
buscade at  the  point  where  they  knew  the  crew 
must  land  to  use  the  cable,  and  had  fallen  upon 
them  at  a  moment  when  the  difficulties  of  the 
navigation  absorbed  their  attention  so  entirely, 
that  they  had  forgotten  their  usual  precautions, 
and  were  not  prepared  either  to  fight  or  fly.  On 
hearing  the  alarm  we  endeavoured  to  hasten  to 
their  assistance,  aided  by  a  breeze  which  filled 
our  sail,  and  bore  us  rapidly  along.  But  we  were 
too  late ;  and,  on  turning  the  point,  beheld  the 
other  boat  moored  fast  to  the  shore,  and  in  pos- 
.  session  of  a  hellish  band  of  savage  warriors,  who 
were  dashing  furiously  about  on  the  deck  and  on 
the  bank, .uttering  the  -most  hideous  yells.  We 
came  near  enough  to  see  the  bodies  of  our  friends 
stretched  lifeless  on  the  ground,  or  struggling  in 
the  agonies  of  death — surrounded  by  the  monsters, 
who  were  still  beating  them  with  clubs,  and  grati- 
fying their  demoniac  thirst  for  blood  in  gashing 
with  their  knives  the  already  mutilated  corpses. 
Never  did  I  behold  a  scene  of  such  horror :  lan- 
guage has.no  power  to  describe  it,  nor  the  mind 
capacity  to  obliterate  its  impressions.  Men,  women, 
and  children,  were  alike  the  victims  of  an  indis- 
criminating  carnage.  The  hell-hounds  were  lite- 
rally tearing  them  in  pieces, — exulting,  shouting, 


70  THE  PIONEER. 

smearing  themselves  with  blood,  and  trampling  on 
the  remains  of  their  "wretched  victims. 

On  our  approach,  they  prepared  for  a  new 
triumph ;  for  their  numbers  so  greatly  exceeded 
our  own  as  to  render  victory  certain.  We  had 
advanced  so  near  as  to  be  within  the  range  of  a 
heavy  fire  which  they  poured  in,  and  the  foaming 
current  seemed  to  be  dashing  us  upon  the  rocks 
on  which  they  stood — when  our  steersman,  a  cool 
experienced  man,  suddenly  threw  the  head  of  the 
boat  across  the  river,  in  the  opposite  direction, 
and  causing  the  sail  to  be  trimmed  suitably,  shot 
rapidly  away  from  the  scene  of  the  massacre.  A 
shout  of  rage  and  disappointment  burst  from  our 
crew,  who  were  thoughtlessly  preparing  to  revenge 
their  friends.  It  was  well  that  a  more  prudent 
head  directed  our  motions.  The  dead  were  be- 
yond the  reach  of  our  aid,  and  the  infuriated 
savages,  mad  with  victory,  greatly  outnumbered 
ourselves.  We  found  safety  on  the  opposite  shore, 
where  we  remained  in  painful  suspense  until  the 
murderers  retired,  when  we  repaired  to  the  me- 
lancholy spot,  and  rendered,  in  silent  fcgony,  the 
last  sad  rites  to  the  remains  of  the  fallen.  Not 
one  of  all  that  crew  had  escaped.  I  recognised, 
with  difficulty,  the  mangled  bodies  of  my  mother 
and  my  uncle ;  and  kneeling  beside  the  remains 
of  my  parent,  swore  eternal  vengeance  against  her 
murderers — against  that  race  who  had  poisoned 


•  THE  PIONEER.  71 

the  cup  of  her  existence, — -and,  not  content  with 
robbing  her  of  all  that  made  life  dear,  and  of  life 
itself,  had  insulted  her  inanimate  remains. 

Enough  of  this.  I  cannot  express  the  feelings 
of  a  son  under  such  circumstances — the  only  son 
of  a  widowed  mother — who  had  been  almost  her 
sole  companion,  had  shared  her  adversity,  wit- 
nessed her  afflictions,  and  appreciated  her  mater- 
nal fondness.  I  pass  them  over. 

I  began  to  lead  a  new  life.  I  found  myself  at 
Kaskaskia,  a  stranger.  I  had  not  a  relative  living, 
and  in  this  place  I  had  no  acquaintances.  But  my 
story  gained  me  much  sympathy ;  I  was  kindly 
received — every  door  was  open  to  me,  and  every 
heart  seemed  to  feel  that  I  had  claims  upon  my 
countrymen. 

No  degree  of  kindness,  however,  could  soothe 
my  excited  feelings.  The  determination  to  avenge 
my  mother's  death, — to  be  revenged  for  the  loss 
of  a  father,  a  sister,  and  an  uncle,  was  unalterably 
formed^  and  thirst  for  the  blood  of  the  savage  was 
become  an  uncontrollable  passion.  I  wandered 
about  in  the  woods  and  over  the  prairies — spend- 
ing my  whole  time  in  hunting,  in  increasing  my 
skill  in  the  use  of  the  rifle,  and  in  rendering  more 
perfect  my  proficiency  in  the  various  devices  of 
the  hunter.  In  my  wanderings  I  became  ac- 
quainted with  a  Frenchman,  who  lived  almost 
entirely  in  the  forest.  He  was  a  small,  slender, 


72  Tin-:  PIONEER. 

quiet  man,  past  the  meridian  of  life.  Taciturn 
and  inoffensive,  he  subsisted  by  hunting  and  fish- 
ing,  and  had  little  communion  with  his  own  species. 
He  was  never  engaged  in  war,  or  in  any  kind  of 
altercation.  Equally  friendly  with  the  whites  and 
tin;  Indians,  he  visited  the  villages  and  the  camps 
of  both,  and  was  well  received,  although  occasion- 
ally suspected  by  each  of  acting  as  a  spy  for  the 
other.  This  suspicion  was  founded  on  the  singu- 
larity of  his  character,  in  which  a  great  degree  of 
ignorance  and  childish  simplicity  was  combined 
with  a, remarkable  shrewdness  in  matters  con- 
nected with  his  own  vocation.  The  latter  was 
very  naturally  supposed  to  arise  from  native  saga- 
rit\ .  and  the  former  to  be  the  result  of  profound 
divMinulation.  What  the  trulh  might  be,  I  never 
knew;  but,  to  me,  Peter  seemed  to  be  the  most 
unsophisticated  of  human  beings;  How  it  hap- 
pened that  I  gained  his  confidence,  does  not  now 
occur  to  me ;  for  he  was  unsocial  in  his  habits — 
and  although,  when  he  visited  the  French  villages, 
he  cheerfully  partook  of  the  hospitality  of  his 
countrymen*  conversed  freely,  and  was  a  delighted 
spectator  of  their  festivities,  he  soon  wandered  off, 
and  was  not  seen  again  for  weeks,  or  even  months. 
To  this  singular  being  I  attached  myself,  and 
became  the  companion  of  his  voluntary  banishment 
from  society.  We  retired  far  from  the 
ments,  avoiding  equally  the  hunting  grounds  of 


THE  PIONEER.  73 

the  Indians  and  the  haunts  of  the  white  people. 
Sometimes  we  encamped  at  a  secluded  spot  on  the 
margin  of  a  river,  and  spent  our  time  in  fishing. 
Then  we  wandered  away  to  the  pastures  of  the 
deer,  living  upon  venison,  and  drying  the  skins  of 
our  game.  Again,  we  sought  the-  retreats  of  the 
beaver,  and,  setting  our  traps,  reposed  quietly  in 
the  neighbouring  coverts  to  witness  the  success  of 
our  arts.  Occasionally  we  crept  upon  the  elk  or 
the  buffalo,  and  engaged,  with  the  hunter's  ardour, 
in  the  pursuit  of  these  noble  animals ;  and  some- 
times we  circumvented  the  cunning  of  the  wild 
cat,  or  planned  the  destruction  of  the  wolf  or  the 
panther.  To  add  variety  to  our  meals,  we  plun- 
dered the  hoard  of  the  wild  bee ;  and  Peter  soon 
taught  me  to  trace  the  industrious  insect  through 
the  air,  from  the  flowery  prairie,  to  his  distant 
home  in  the  forest.  When  our  supply  of  furs 
became  considerable,  we  collected  them  from  their 
different  places  of  deposit  at  some  point  on  the 
river,  and,  embarking  in  a  canoe,  floated  down  to 
the  nearest  village,  where  we  exchanged  them  for 
powder,  lead,  and  other  necessaries. 

But  I  did  not  spend  all  my  time  in  hunting  and 
fishing.  Naturally  observant,  the  little  education 
I  had  received  had  quickened  my  mental  powers, 
and  rendered  me  keenly  inquisitive  into  all  the 
arcana  of  nature.  I  noticed  every  thing  around 
me ; — the  appearances  of  the  clouds,  and  the 
7 


74  THE  riONEEH. 

changes  of  the  weather — the  foliage  of  the  trees, 
and  the  growth  of  the  multitudinous  vegetal  i 
the  wilderness — the  habits  of  animals,  and  the 
various  notes  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  forest, — 
but  especially  all  the  appearances  of  nature — all 
tin?  varieties  of  sunlight  and  shade — all  the  diver- 
sities in  the  aspect  of  the  natural  scenery,  from 
midnight  to  noon,  attracted  my  attention.  Peter, 
although  not  a  naturalist,  was  an  admirable  teacher 
in  these  studies.  Accustomed  to  observe  nature 
in  mi  his  infancy,  he  had  become  acquainted  with 
the  secrets  of  the  great  volume,  which  all  profess 
to  admire  and  but  few  understand.  He  could  anti- 
cipate the  changes  of  the  weather.  He  knew 
when  the  moon  would  rise,  and  when  the  deer 
would  be  stirring.  He  could  select,  with  ready 
tact,  the  most  suitable  pool  for  fishing,  and  could 
tell  the  hour  at  which  the  fish  would  bite.  Hi- 
ear  was  acute  in  distinguishing  sounds  :  if  a  wolf 
stole  past  in  tin;  dark,  he  muld  detect  tlie  fall  of 
his  stealthy  footstep  in  the  rustling  of  the  leal"  or 
the  cracking  of  the  twigs;  and  when  the  owl 
hooted  at  midnight,  he  knew  whether  that  scream 
denoted  the  presence  of  an  intruder,  or  was  the 
ordinary  note  with  which  the  solitary  bird  so 
his  hour  of  recreation.  There  were  few  appear- 
ances, and  few  sounds,  which  Peter  could  not 
explain.  He  knew  the  points  of  the  compass 
and  the  landmarks  of  the  country,  and  could  find 


.      THE  PIONEER.  75 

his  way  in  the  dark  as  well  as  in  the  daylight, 
and  under  a  clouded  atmosphere  as  easily  as  in 
the  blaze  of  noon. 

Under  such  tuition,  I  soon  became  also  an  ex- 
pert woodsman.  With  an  enterprising  mind,  a 
frame  naturally  vigorous,  and  habits  formed  from 
infancy  upon  the  frontier,  1  had  little  to  learn.  1 
only  needed  experience,  and  this  1  now  gained  in 
the  school  of  practice.  The  backwoodsman  ac- 
quires great  skill  in  the  use  of  the  rifle,  because  he 
employs  that  weapon  not  merely  in  sport,  but  in  the 
pursuit  of  a  serious  occupation.  It  was  particularly 
•  so  in  those  early  times.  If  he  made  war,  it  was 
usually  at  his  own  cost ;  if  he  hunted,  it  was  to  pro- 
cure a  livelihood.  In  his  long  marches  through  the 
woods,  when  he  is  absent  several  days,  or  perhaps 
weeks,  from  home,  he  can  cany  but  little  ammu- 
nition, and  has  no  means  of  renewing  his  supply 
when  it  becomes  expended.  Powder  and  lead  are 
scarce  and  costly  in  these  secluded  neighbour- 
hoods. He  is  therefore  cautious  not  to  throw 
away  a  charge,  and  seldom  fires  at  random.  He 
creeps  upon  his  enemy,  or  his  game,  gains  every 
available  advantage,  measures  his  distance,  and 
takes  his  aim,  with  great  deliberation  and  accu- 
racy, in  any  attainment,  it  is  not  practice 
merely  which  secures  perfection,  but  it  is  the 
habit  of  careful  practice,  of  always  doing  well  that 
which  is  to  be  done,  and  of  aiming  continually  at 


76  THE  PIONEER. 

improvement.  Such  is  the  habit  of  our  hunters, 
who  seldom  discharge  their  rifles  unnecessarily, 
and  who  feel  their  own  characters,  and  that  of 
their  guns,  at  stake  in  ever^r  shot  which  they  fire. 
There  was  one  subject,  however,  which  occu- 
pied my  mind  especially — one  master  purpose, 
to  which  every  feeling  of  my  heart,  and  every 
employment  of  my  life,  was  subservient.  My 
thirst  for  revenge  was  unbounded.  It  filled  up 
my  whole  soul.  I  thought  of  little  else  than 
schemes  for  the  destruction  of  the  savage.  1  was 
maturing  a  stupendous  plan  of  vengeance,  and 
bringing  all  the  resources  of  my  mind  to  bear* 
upon  this  one  subject.  The  feet  of  men  are  swift 
to  shed  blood.  I  improved  rapidly  in  the  arts  of 
destruction.  I  practised  all  the  deceptive  strata- 
gems, by  which  the  hunter  conceals  himself  from 
an  enemy,  or  baffles  the  instinct  of  the  brute.  I 
could  lie  for  hours  so  still,  that  a  person,  within  a 
few  feet  of  me,  would  not  liave  suspected  that  a 
living  creature  was  near  him  ;  and  concealed  my- 
self so  successfully,  that  even  the  Indian  would 
not  have  discovered  me,  unless  he  stepped  by  ac- 
cident on  my  body.  I  could  swim,  and  dive,  and 
lie  all  day  in  the  water,  with  my  head  hidden 
among  the  rushes,  watching  for  prey.  I  learned 
especially  that  patience,  that  forbearance,  that 
entire  mastery  over  my  appetites,  fears,  and  pas- 
sions, which  enables  the  Indian  to  submit  to  any 


THE  PIONEER.  77 

privation,  and  to  delay  the  impending  blow  until 
all  his  plans  are  ripe,  however  alluring  may  be 
the  temptation  for  premature  action. 

I  concealed  my  design  from  all,  even  from  my 
companion,  Peter,  while  I  was  every  day  getting 
from  him  the  information  requisite  to  advance 
my  purpose.  I  ascertained  the  names  of  the  sur- 
rounding tribes,  their  dispositions  in  respect  to 
the  whites,  and  the  location  of  their  villages.  I 
obtained  the  names  of  their  most  celebrated 
warriors,  and  particularly  of  such  as  were  dis- 
tinguished by  deeds  of  violence  against  my  coun- 
trymen. But  the  information  to  which  I  listened 
with  the  most  thrilling  interest,  and  treasured  in 
my  inmost  heart,  related  to  the  massacre  of  my 
mother.  I  learned  from  the  Frenchmen,  that  the 
party  which  perpetrated  that  bloody  deed,  con- 
sisted of  a  number  of  desperate  individuals  from 
different  villages,  led  by  a  lawless  chief,  who  still 
occasionally  assembled  the  band  for  similar  out- 
rages. I  treasured  with  pertinacious  care  the 
names  of  those  Indians,  and  the  distinctive  marks 
by  which  they  might  be  known.  More  than  once, 
when  I  heard  that  they  were  hunting  in  our  neigh- 
bourhood, I  left  my  companion,  silently  tracked 
their  footsteps  day  after  day,  laid  concealed  by 
the  jpath  along  which  they  passed,  or  crept 
secretly  upon  their  camp  ;  until  by  close  observa- 
tion I  made  myself  acquainted  with  their  persons. 
7* 


78  PIONEER. 

All  this  was-  the  more  difficult,  because  this  band, 
aware  of  the  indignation  which  that  unprovoked 
murder  had  excited,  avoided  the  white  people,  and 
were  constantly  on  their  guard  against  surprise. 
But  what  vigilance  can  guard  against-the  watch- 
ful cunning  of  revenge — revenge  for  the  cold- 
blooded butchery  of  a  mother,  a  sister,  and  a 
father,  and  the  disruption  of  ev»r\  n>  which  hinds 
a  young  and  generous  heart  to  existence ! 

At  length  the  long  sought  opportunity  presented 
itself.  In  the  fall  of  the  year  succeeding  that  of 
the  massacre,  I  discovered  that  the  hated  band 
were  hunting  on  the  margin  of  the  Mississippi, 
and  were  in  the  custom  of  retiring  for  safety, 
every  night,  to  an  island  in  that  river — first 
making  thru-  tin-,  and  arranging  their  camp  on 
the  shore  of  the  main  land,  as  if  with  the  inten- 
tion of  spen  night  there,  and  then  secretly 
<  tea  ling  away  to  the  island  under  the  cover  of 
darkness. 

I  went  to  the  nearest  settlement — where  m\ 
was  well  known,  and  had  awakened  a  gener- 
ous sympathy — and  laving  aside  my  usual  reserve, 
boldly  announced  my  plan,  and  asked  for  a  band 
of  volunteers  to  assist  in  its  execution.  Such  a 
call  was,  at  that  period,  seldom  made  in  vain. 
Warlike  in  their  habits,  and  invt  lostile 

to  the  savages,  the  people  of  the  frontier  were 
always  ready  for  excursions  of  this  character. 


THE  PIONEER.  79 

On  this  occasion  the  excitement  was  the  more 
easily  kindled,  because  others  had  been  bereaved 
of  relatives  and  friends,  in  the  same  catastrophe 
which  deprived  me  of  my  last  parent,  and  all  were 
indignant  at  that  outrage.  The  plan  was  well 
matured,  and  rapidly  executed.  A  company  was 
raised,  equal  in  number  to  the  Indians,  all  picked 
men,  and  completely  equipped.  At  midnight, 
we  assembled  secretly  on  the  bank  of  the  river, 
far  above  the  island,  and  embarking  in  canoes, 
floated  quietly  down.  The  night  was  cloudy,  and 
so  perfectly  dark,  as  to  render  it  impossible  that 
we  should  be  discovered  from  either  shore.  The 
stream  bore  us  along,  and  the  noiseless  paddle 
accelerated  and  directed  the  motion  of  the  canoe, 
without  creating  the  slightest  sound  which  could 
awaken  alarm.  We  landed  on  the  island  without 
confusion,  and  pursued  the  meanders  of  the  shore 
until  we  found  the  canoes  of  the  enemy.  These 
we  cut  adrift,  and  pursuing  a  dim  path,  came  to 
the  camp  where  the  savages  were  lying  asleep, 
around  the  embers  of  a  fire, — all  but  a  sentinel, 
who,  half  awake,  sat  upon  a  log.  Each  man 
selected  his  object,  in  accordance  with  a  precon- 
certed plan — took  a  deliberate  aim,  and  fired  ; — 
and  then  drawing  our  tomahawks,  we  rushed  in, 
and  ^grappled  the  astonished  savages  as  they 
sprung  to  their  feet.  So  complete  was  the  sur- 
prise, that  they  had  not  time  to  grasp  their  arms 


80  THE  PIONEER. 

before  the  tomahawk  was  busy  among  them.  A 
few  seized  the  nearest  weapon,  and  fought  with 
desperation.  But  the  conflict  was  soon  over : — 
not  one  of  that  fated  hand  escaped  to  tell  of  their 
r.  Morning  dawned  over  a  scene  reposing 
in  beautiful  and  majestic  quiet;  its  rosy  light 
streaming  over  the  variegated  foliage,  and  glanc- 
ing from  the  eddies  and  ripples  of  the  turbid  river 
— and  there  we  sat,  a  grim  and  bloody  company, 
brooding  over  the  gashod  and  mutilated  bodies  of 
the  slain,  while  a  few  scouts  were  busily  ex- 
ploring the  island,  to  ascertain  whether  any  of  the 
enemy  were  yet  lurking  in  the  bushes.  Not  one 
was  found  ;  and  we  departed  in  triumph, — in  that 
silent  and  subdued  triumph  \\hich  the  sight  of  the 
slain  inspires  in  the  box  mi  of  the  generous  fi 
hut  yet  with  the  emotions  of  satisfaction  which 
men  feel,  who  believe  that  they  have  performed  a 
duty. 

1  had  supposed,  previous  to  this  event,  that  the 
gratification  of  my  revenge  would  give  peace  to 
my  bosom ;  but  this  is  a  passion  which  grows 
stronger  by  indulgence ;  and  no  sooner  had  1 
tasted  the  sweets  of  vengeance,  than  I  began  to 
feel  an  insatiable  thirst  for  the  blood  of  the  savage. 
U«  -iiinino  my  secluded  habits,  but  without  rejoin- 
ing my  former  companion,  I  now  lived  entir 
the  woods,  occupied  with  my  own  thoughts,  and 
pursuing,  systematically,  a  plan  of  warfare  against 


THE  PIONEER.  81 

that  hated  race  whom  I  regarded  with  invincible 
animosity.  1  followed  the  footsteps  of  their  hunt- 
ing parties,  eagerly  watching  for  an  opportunity 
to  cut  off  any  straggler  who  might  wander  away 
from  the  others.  For  whole  days  1  would  lie  con- 
cealed by  the  paths  which  they  travelled,  or  near 
a  spring  which  they  frequented ;  and  if  a  single 
Indian  presented  himself,  I  shot  him  down  without 
remorse,  as  I  would  have  slain  a  wolf,  or  crushed 
a  rattlesnake.  Sometimes  1  met  a  single  warrior 
openly,  and  we  fought  manfully,  hand  to  hand : 
that  f  was  successful  in  those  conflicts,  is  proved 
by  the  fact  that  I  am  alive — for  those  single  com- 
bats are  usually  fatal  to  one  of  the  parties.  But 
more  frequently  1  sought  to  engage  them  under 
every  advantage  which  might  ensure  success,  not 
feeling  the  obligation  of  any  point  of  honour 
which  obliged  me  to  meet  an  Indian  on  fair  terms. 
It  happened,  of  course,  that  the  advantage  was 
sometimes  on  their  side ;  occasionally,  1  fell  in, 
accidentally,  with  several  of  their  warriors,  or  was 
tracked  and  pursued  by  a  party — and  then  I 
eluded  them  by  cunning,  or  escaped  by  superior 
swiftness  of  foot.  They  soon  learned  to  know  me 
as  their  enemy,  and  scoured  the  woods  in  search 
of  me,  with  an  eagerness  equal  to  my  own ;  but 
while  they  sought  my  life  by  every  artifice  known 
to  savage  warfare,  few  of  them  were  willing  to 
meet  me  single-handed  ;  for  it  is  well  understood. 


82  THE  PIONEER. 

that  where  the  white  man  is  trained  to  this  species 
of  hostility,  he  is  superior  to  the  Indian,  because 
his  physical  powers  are  greater,  and  his  courage 
of  a  higher  and  more  generous  tone. 

At  length,  tired  of  the  monotony  of  the  life  I 
led,  and  sated  with  carnage,  I  retired  from  the 
woods,  and  betook  myself  to  farming,  living  a 
quirt  and  industrious  life,  and  only  resuming  my 
!<>i  IIKT  habits  to  join  a  hunting  party,  or  to  assist 
\\ith  others  in  the  defence  of  the  frontiers,  in  case 
of  an  alarm.  Once  in  a  great  while,  however, 
after  a  longer  interval  of  quiet  than  usual,  I  took 
my  rifle,  and  strolled  off  to  the  woods  to  kill  an 
Indian,  as  another  man  would  seek  recreation  in 
hunting  a  deer  or  a  panther. 

It  seems  unnatural  that  a  man  should  pur- 
sue a  life  that  may  appear  so  ferocious  and  even 
unprincipled.  Hut  you  must  not  forget  that  i  had 
been  raised  upon  the  frontier ;  that  I  had  been 
accustomed  from  infancy  to  hear  the  Indian 
spoken  of  as  an  enemy — as  a  cowardly,  malevo- 
lent, and  cruel  savage,  who  stole  upon  the  unpro- 
tected, in  the  hour  of  repose,  and  murdered  with- 
out respect  to  age  or  sex  ;  that  many  atrocities 
had  been  perpetrated  within  my  own  knowledge, 
or  related  to  me  by  those  who  had  seen  them; 
and  that  1  h;ul  suffered  more  than  others  by  this 
detested  race.  Those  who  know  the  relations  of 
mutual  aggression,  and  continual  alarm,  which 


THE  PIONEER.  83 

existed  between  the  pioneers  and  the  Indians,  in 
the  first  settlement  of  the  country,  can  easily 
imagine  that  the  hatred  they  felt  towards  each 
other  was  intense  and  permanent;  and  that  an 
individual,  who  considered  himself  more  deeply 
injured  than  the  rest,  might  naturally  have  sup- 
posed himself  justifiable  in  seeking  a  more  than 
ordinary  measure  of  retaliation* 

I  come  now  to  a  circumstance  which  changed 
the  tone  of  my  feelings,  and  the  whole  colour  of 
my  life.  One  day,  towards  the  close  of  summer, 
I  had  gone  out  bee-hunting.  Our  practice  was  to 
find  the  bee-trees,  at  our  leisure,  during  the  sum- 
mer, and  mark  them  with  a  tomahawk ;  each 
hunter  used  his  own  mark,  and  respected  those  of 
others ;  and  at  the  proper  season,  we  went  out 
with  some  axe-men,  and  proper  vessels,  cut  down 
the  trees,  and  collected  the  honey.  I  had  set  out 
early,  and  spent  the  day  in  roaming  over  a  wild 
unfrequented  tract,  in  search  of  trees.  To  find 
them,  I  watched  the  bees,  observing,  as  they  left 
the  flowers,  clogged  with  honey,  the  course  they 
flew — or  I  set  bee-bait,  usually  a  little  salt  and 
water,  in  an  open  vessel,  which  these  insects  sip 
greedily,  and  then  marked  the  direction  of  their 
flight.  The  bee,  in  returning  home,  always  flies 
in  a  direct  line ;  and  the  experienced  hunter,  hav- 
ing observed  the  course,  can  follow  it  so  accu- 
rately, that  he  seldom  fails  to  find  the  tree.  This 


84  THE  PIONEER. 

he  is  enabled  to  do,  partly  by  knowing  the 
kind  of  trees  to  examine,  and  partly  by  the 
acuteness  of  his  eye  and  ear,  which  enables  him, 
when  near  the  place,  to  see  the  insects  hover- 
ing  about  it,  or  to  hear  the  hum  of  those  busy 
labourers. 

I  delighted  in  this  employment.  I  loved  to  sit 
in  the  edge  of  the  prairie,  and  gaze  upon  its  un- 
dulating surface,  to  see  the  waving  of  the  tall 
grass  as  the  wind  swept  over  it,  to  mark  the 
various  colours  of  the  flowers,  to  follow  the  labo- 
rious bee  in  her  active  flight  along  the  plain,  to 
behold  the  celerity  and  skill  with  which  she 
gathered  her  harvest  of  sweets  from  this  immense 
garden,  and  to  trace  her  through  the  air  as  she 
darted  away,  laden  with  spoil,  to  her  forest  home. 
1  loved  the  quirt  of  this  solitary  sport.  The 
admirer  of  nature  always  reaps  instruction  in  gaz- 
ing upon  her  scenes  of  native  luxuriance.  The 
wisdom  of  Providence  is  so  infinite,  the  ingenuity 
displayed  in  all  the  arcana  of  the  animal  and 
vegetable  creation  is  so  diversified,  that  every  day 
thus  spent  discloses  new  facts,  and  suggests  a 
novel  train  of  reflection.  In  the  few  years  I  had 
spent  at  school,  1  had  read  enough  to  excite 
curiosity,  and  to  invigorate  the  powers  of  thought ; 
and  so  indelibly  were  those  studies  impressed  upon 
my  memory,  that  the  classic  images  of  the 
ancient  writers  arose  continually  in  my  mind,  and 


THE  PIONEER.  85 

famished  pleasing  illustrations  of  those  natural 
appearances  by  which  I  was  surrounded. 

On  that  day,  my  mind,  thus  calmed  by  an  agree- 
able train  of  association,  had  wandered  back  to 
the  period  of  childhood,  and  I  thought  of  the  sister 
who  had  been  my  companion,  and  whose  death  I 
had  so  amply  revenged.  I  tried  to  recall  her  fea- 
tures, and  the  sports  in  which  we  had  engaged 
together.  1  speculated  on  what  she  might  have 
become,  had  the  ruthless  hand  of  the  savage 
spared  her  to  grow  up  to  maturity.  She  would 
now  have  attained  the  bloom  of  womanhood,  and 
her  softness  would  have  restrained  those  fierce 
passions,  the  long  indulgence  of  which  had  hard- 
ened my  heart,  and  thrown  a  gloom  over  my 
mind.  She  would  perhaps  have  been  a  wife  and 
a  mother ;  my  affections  would  have  become  en- 
twined with  those  of  other  beings,  and,  instead  of 
being  a  solitary  man,  standing  alone  in  the  world, 
like  the  blasted  and  wind-shaken  tree  of  the 
prairie,  I  should  have  grown  up  surrounded  by 
hearts  allied  to  my  own,  and  have  struck  down  my 
roots  into  the  soil,  and  interlocked  my  branches 
with  those  of  my  kindred. 

I  had  begun,  very  recently,  to  doubt  the  pro* 
priety  of  cherishing  those  feelings  of  implacable 
resentment,  which  I  had  indulged  through  my 
whole  life,  of  brooding  over  the  melancholy  disas- 
ters of  my  youth,  and  of  pursuing  that  systematic 
6 


86  THE  PIONEER. 

plan  of  destruction,  which  kept  my  h;m<l  con- 
tinually  imbued  in  blood,  and  my  mind  agitated 
by  the  tempest  of  passion.  Not  that  I  quest  i 
for  a  moment  my  right  to  destroy  the  savage: — 
that  was  a  principle  too  deeply  ingrained  in  my 
nature  to  be  eradicated — the  dreadful  maxim  of 
LTG  was  pricked  upon  my  heart  with  the  point 
of  a  sharp  instrument,  and  the  characters  stood 
there  indelibly  recorded.  Filial  piety  sanctioned 
the  promptings  of  nature  ;  and  I  believed  that  in 
killing  a  savage  I  performed  my  duty  as  a  man, 
and  served  my  country  as  a  citizen.  But  I  had 
begun  to  discover  the  injurious  effects  of  my  mode 
of  life  upon  my  own  character  and  happiness.  It 
had  rendered  me  moody  and  unsocial.  It  kept 
me  estranged  from  society,  encouraged  a  habit  of 
self-torture,  and  perpetuated  a  chain  of  indignant 
and  sorrowful  reflections.  1  saw  that  others  for- 
gave injury,  and  forgot  bereavement;  the  cloud 
passed  over  them,  like  the  storm  of  the  summer 
da\ .  Mack  nn<l  terrible  in  its  fury,  but  brief  in  its 
continuance',  and  the  sunshine  of  peace  beamed 
out  again  upon  them — while  I  had  disdained  con- 
solation, had  fled  the  kindness  of  fellow-creatures, 
and  had  repelled  the  healing  balm  which  Provi- 
dence pours  into  the  wounds  of  the  afflicted. 

Occupied  by  such  thoughts,  the  day  wore  away, 
the  sun  was  sinking  in  the  west,  and  I  entered  a 
thick  wood,  for  the  purpose  of  making  my  camp 


THE  PIONEER.  87 

for  the  night,  on  the  margin  of  a  small  river  that 
meandered  through  it.  Habitually  cautious,  I  ap- 
proached the  place  with  noiseless  steps,  when  I 
perceived,  on  the  bank  of  the  stream,  the  hunting- 
lodge  of  an  Indian — a  slight  shelter,  made  by 
throwing  a  few  mats  over  some  poles  which  were 
stuck  in  the  ground.  I  examined  the  priming  of 
my  rifle,  loosened  my  knife  in  its  sheath,  changed 
a  little  my  direction,  so  as  to  advance  against  the 
wind,  and  crept  stealthily  upon  the  unguarded 
hunter.  He  was  stretched  on  the  ground,  lazily 
sleeping  away  the  afternoon,  and  was  not  armed 
nor  painted — having  evidently  sought  this  quiet 
spot,  with  his  family,  for  the  purpose  of  supporting 
them  by  fishing.  His  wife,  whose  back  was  to- 
^ards  me,  was  busily  engaged  in  some  domestic 
employment ;  a  child,  perfectly  naked,  was  wal- 
lowing in  the  sand,  and  another,  an  infant,  was 
lashed  to  a  board  which  leaned  against  a  tree  near 
the  mother.  All  were  silent.  I  crept  up  with 
the  noiseless  motion  of  a  disembodied  spirit,  in- 
tending to  despatch  the  hunter  as  he  lay  inert 
upon  the  ground.  I  had  never  yet  spared  a 
warrior  of  that  race ;  and,  as  my  contempt  for 
them  prevented  me  from  feeling  any  pride  in  such 
exploits,  I  exulted  in  the  prospect  of  an  easy 
victory.  All  the  reasoning  of  that  day  faded  at 
once  from  my  mind ;  but  the  recollections  of  my 
childhood,  which  had  been  called  up,  gave  a  fresh- 


88  TJIE  PIONEER. 

ness  to  my  desire  for  revenge.  I  had  never  aimed 
a  blow  against  a  woman  or  a  child ;  they  were 
sacred  from  any  violence  at  my  hand.  But  when 
I  saw  that  Indian  father,  with  his  wife  and  his  two 
children,  the  coincidence  in  the  number  and  ages 
of  the  family  reminded  me  of  the  fireside  of  my 
father,  as  it  must  have  been  when  desolated  by  his 
death ;  and  I  felt  a  malignant  delight  in  the  idea 
of  invading  this  family  as  mine  had  been  invaded, 
and  blasting  their  peace  by  crushing  their  protec- 
tor, there,  on  that  \t-ry  -]>«>!,  in  the  presence  of  his 
innocent  and  helpless  dependents.  He  was  com- 
pletely in  my  power :  I  could  shoot  him  from  the 
spot  where  I  stood.  There  was  no  chance  for  his 
escape.  But  I  approached  still  nearer.  We  \N «  i  <  • 
separated  but  a  few  paces,  and  I  stood  behind  the 
trunk  of  a  large  tree,  which  completely  concealed 
me.  Once  he  expanded  his  nostrils,  as  if  the  scent 
of  a  white  man  had  reached  him — and  once  he 
turned  his  ear  towards  the  ground,  as  if  the  sound 
of  a  footstep  vibrated  upon  it ;  but  his  indolence 
prevailed  over  his  vigilance. 

I  was  about  to  raise  my  rifle,  for  the  purpose  of 
tiring,  when  the  woman  turned  her  face  towards 
inr  and  stood  erect.  I  had  before  remarked  that 
her  stature  was  taller  than  that  of  the  squaws,  >\  hu 
are  usually  *hort,  and  that  her  hair,  which  hung 
plaited  in  one  thick  roll  down  her  back,  was  not 
black, — ami  1  now  saw  that  she  was  not  of  Indian 


THE  PIONEER.  89 

descent.  Although  browned  by  long  exposure  to 
the  weather,  her  features  and  complexion  were 
those  of  my  own  countrywomen.  But  what  struck 
me  most,  and  almost  deprived  me  of  my  self-pos- 
session, was  her  likeness  to  my  deceased  mother. 
Had  it  not  been  for  the  difference  of  age,  I  should 
have  been  persuaded  that  my  parent  stood  before 
me.  The  height,  the  figure,  the  complexion,  the 
expression  of  countenance,  were  all  so  similar, 
that,  notwithstanding  the  Indian  costume  in  which 
the  female  before  me  was  clad,  she  was  the  exact 
representation  of  my  mother,  as  I  recollected  her 
in  my  early  years — not  as  I  remembered  her  in 
after  times,  when  broken  down  by  widowhood  and 
suffering. 

A  thought  rushed  across  my  mind.  The  age 
of  that  young  woman  corresponded  with  the  years 
to  which  my  sister  would  have  attained,  had  she 
lived.  What  a  gush  of  feeling  overwhelmed  and 
almost  burst  my  heart,  as  this  suspicion  arose — 
what  delight,  what  indignation !  Could  it  be  pos- 
sjible  that  my  sister  had  survived,  and  that  I  found 
her  thus — the  wife  of  a  savage,  the  mother  of  a 
spurious  offspring  of  that  degraded  race !  My 
arm  sunk,  the  gun  rested  on  the  ground,  and  I 
leaned  against  the  tree.  I  stood  for  a  long  while 
watching  the  group  with  intense  interest — pur- 
suing the  female  especially  with  an  eye  of  eager 
curiosity.  In  what  slight  circumstances  do  we 
8* 


90  THE  PIONEER. 

discover  resemblance  !  When  she  moved,  there 
was  the  air  of  my  mother ;  if  she  spoke  to  her 
children,  there  was  the  voice ;  if  she  smiled,  there 
was  my  mother's  smile.  My  parent  had  been 
handsomer  than  most  women,  and  this  young  fe- 
male,— though  her  features  were  hardened  by  toil 
and  weather,  though  the  wildness  of  the  Indian 
glance  was  in  her  eye,  and  the  vacancy  of  igno- 
rance was  in  her  countenance, — was  yet  beautiful, 
and  like  my  mother! 

Convinced  that  1  saw  my  sister,  conflicting 
(motions  took  possession  of  my  mind,  and  I  be- 
came irresolute  of  purpose.  At  one  moment  I 
felt  more  determined  than  ever  to  slay  the  Indian, 
whose  alliance  with  my  only  relative  I  considered 
a  new  insult,  and  a  deeper  injury  than  all  others ; 
then  I  melted  into  tenderness  as  I  gazed  on  her. 
I  looked  at  her  children,  and  recoiled  at  the  idea 
of  the  unnatural  union  which  had  brought  them 
into  existence — 1  looked  at  herself,  and  felt  the 
stirrings  of  a  brother's  affection. 

At  last  I  determined  to  resolve  my  doubts ;  and, 
subduing  every  appearance  of  emotion,  I  emerged 
from  my  concealment  and  walked  slowly  towards 
the  lodge.  On  discovering  me,  the  woman,  with- 
out betraying  her  surprise,  uttered  a  low  admo- 
nition to  her  husband,  who  arose  to  receive  me, 
watchful,  yet  assured  by  the  pacific  manner  of  my 
approach.  I  seated  myself  on  a  log — the  Indian 


THE  PIONEER.  91 

followed  my  example,  with  an  appearance  of  per- 
fect indifference,  while  his  vigilant  eye  wandered 
covertly  to  my  gun,  and  then  to  the  lodge  where 
his  own  was  deposited.  The  woman,  with  a  simi- 
lar expression  of  apathy  in  her  countenance,  threw 
her  glance  hastily  into  the  forest,  and  listened,  as 
if  to  discover  whether  other  footsteps  were  ap- 
proaching. There  was  a  silence  for  some  minutes 
— all  parties  were  equally  jealous,  but  all  assumed 
the  same  careless  air  of  indifference.  At  last  the 
Indian,  who  spoke  English  tolerably  well,  said, 

"  Is  the  white  man  hungry  ?" 

I  replied,  "  No." 

"  Does  the  white  man  require  a  cup  of  water  ?" 

"  I  am  not  thirsty." 

"Is  the  white  hunter  seeking  for  a  place  to 
sleep?  There  is  my  lodge,  and  the  night  is 
coming." 

"  I  am  not  tired,  and  I  never  rest  in  a  wigwam ; 
when  I  sleep,  the  earth  is  my  bed  and  the  heavens 
my  covering ;  I  am  not  a  fox,  to  hide  myself  in  a 
hole." 

"  The  white  stranger  is  wise,"  said  the  Indian 
with  a  mock  gravity. 

"  I  come,"  said  I,  "  with  the  words  of  peace  in 
my  mouth — I  wish  to  hold  council  with  a  friend." 

"It  is  not  usual  for  friends  to  talk  together, 
when  one  of  them  holds  a  gun  in  his  hand." 

I  took  the  hint,  and  laid  down  my  rifle. 


9'J  THE  PIONEER. 

"  Let  us  smoke,"  said  I,  "  I  have  something  of 
great  importance  to  say." 

The  Indian  made  a  sign  to  his  wife,  who  went 
into  the  lodge  and  brought  a  pipe.  It  was  lighted ; 
each  smoked  a  few  whiffs  in  silence,  and  passed  it 
gravely  to  the  other. 

I  now  enquired  into  the  lineage  of  the  female, 
wh<>  had  so  much  interested  me,  but  found  both 
herself  and  her  husband  vny  unwilling  to  com- 
municate any  intelligence  on  the  subject.  They 
affected  to  misunderstand  my  questions,  and  gave 
vague  and  cold  replies.  Determined  to  unveil  the 
mystery,  I  threw  off  all  leserve,  told  them  I  had 
lost  a  sister,  and  repeated  some  of  the  circum- 
stances of  her  capture.  They  listened  attent 
and  the  woman  became  interested.  They  admit  tf«l 
that  she  had  been  stolen  from  the  whites  when  a 
<-hil<],  but  at  first  disclaimed  all  knowledge  of  any 
of  the  facts.  At  length  the  woman,  giving  way  to 
her  curiosity,  which  became  excited,  began  to  re- 
peat some  reminiscences  which  she  said  remained 
dimly  impressed  on  her  mind.  She  thought  she 
remembered  a  little  boy  that  used  to  play  with 
her,  and  repeated  some  circumstances  which  I 
well  recollected.  She  distinctly  remembered  that 
she  was  playing  with  her  little  brother  near  a 
small  stream,  in  a  valley,  when  the  Indians  seized 
her  and  carried  her  away.  Other  facts  were 
related,  which  had  been  gathered  from  the  In- 


THE  PIONEER.  93 

dians  who  composed  the  party — such  as  the  burn- 
ing of  the  house,  and  the  capture  and  escape  of 
the  mother — and  it  was  rendered  certain  that  I 
had  found  my  long  lost  sister !  The  recognition 
was  mutual ,*  all  parties  being  satisfied  that  we 
were  indeed  the  children  of  the  same  parents. 

This  conversation  lasted  until  night,  when  I  de- 
clined an  invitation  to. sleep  in  the  lodge,  and  set 
out  in  a  direction  towards  home;  but  no  sooner 
was  I  out  of  sight  of  the  Indian  camp,  than  I  made 
a  circuit  through  the  woods,  and  having  reached 
a  spot  directly  'opposite  to  the  course  on  which  1 
started,  prepared  to  rest  until  morning.  Such 
was  my  habitual  caution,  and  such  my  distrust  of 
an  Indian,  even  though  married  to  my  sister. 

Early  in  the  morning  I  sought  their  camp. 
They  were  not  surprised  to  see  me — having  under- 
stood, and  no  doubt  applauded,  the  caution  which 
induced  me  to  lodge  apart  from  them.  We  break- 
fasted together  ;  and  my  sister  conversed  with  me 
more  freely  than  before.  The  Indians  had  treated 
her  kindly,  and  she  was  satisfied  with  her  condi- 
tion. When  I  asked  her  if  she  was  happy,  she 
cast  an  enquiring  glance  at  her  husband,  and 
shook  her  head,  as  if  she  did  riot  understand  the 
question.  I  desired  to  know  if  her  husband 
treated  her  kindly,  when  she  replied,  that  he 
was  a  good  hunter,  and  supplied  her  well  with 
food,— that  he  seldom  got  drunk,  and  had  never. 


94  THE  PIONEER. 

beaten  her  but  once,  when,  she  had  no  doubt,  she 
deserved  it ;  to  which  the  husband  added,  that  she 
behaved  so  well  as  to  require  but  little  correction. 
As  the  restraint,  caused  by  my  presence,  began  to 
wear  away,  and  1  was  left  to  converse  with  her 
more  freely,  I  invited  her  to  forsake  her  savage 
companion,  to  place  herself  under  my  protection, 
and  to  resume  the  habits  of  civilised  life.  She 
received  my  proposition  coldly,  and  declined  it 
with  a  slight  smile  of  contempt. 

The  whole  interview  was  painful  and  embar- 
rassing. I  could  not  look  at  the 'Indian  husband 
of  my  sister  without  aversion,  and  her  children, 
with  their  wild  dark  eyes,  and  savage  features, 
were  to  me  objects  of  inexpressible  loathing. 
Between  my  sister  and  myself  there  were  no 
points  of  sympathy,  no  common  attach n 
nothing  to  bind  us  by  any  tie  of  affection  or 
esteem,  or  to  render  the  society  of  either  agree- 
able to  the  other.  The  bond  of  consanguinity 
becomes  a  feeble  and  tuneless  chord,  when  it 
ceases  to  unite  hearts  which  throb  in  unison  ;  like 
the  loosened  and  detached  string  of  a  m musical 
instrument,  it  has  no  melody  in  itself,  but  only 
yields  its  delightful  notes  when  attuned  in  har- 
mony with  the  other  various  affections  of  the 
heart.  There  had  been  a  time,  when  the  name  of 
sister  was  music  to  my  ear,  when  it  was  sur- 
rounded with  tender  and  romantic  associations, 


THE  PIONEER.  95 

and  when  it  called  up  those  mingled  emotions  of 
love,  respect,  and  gallantry,  with  which  we  regard 
a  cherished  female  relative.  But  I  had  seen  her, 
and  the  illusion  was  destroyed.  Instead  of  the 
lovely  woman,  endued  with  the  appropriate  graces 
of  her  sex,  I  found  her  in  the  garb  of  the  wilder- 
ness, the  voluntary  companion  of  a  savage,  the 
mother  of  squalid  imps,  who  were  destined  to  a 
life  of  rapine ;  instead  of  a  gentle  and  rational 
being,  I  saw  her  coarse,  sunburned,  and  ignorant 
— without  sensibility,  without  feminine  pride,  and 
with  scarcely  a  perception  of  the  moral  distinc- 
tions between  right  and  wrong.  I  left  her.  We 
parted  as  we  had  met,  in  coldness  and  suspicion. 
She  gave  me  no  invitation  to  repeat  my  visit,  and 
I  had  secretly  resolved  never  to  see  her  again. 

In  sorrow  did  I  begin  to  retrace  my  steps 
towards  my  own  dwelling.  Slowly,  and  under  a 
sense  of  deep  humiliation,  did  I  wander  back  to 
the  habitations  of  my  own  people.  My  heart  was 
changed.  A  shadow  had  fallen  upon  my  spirit, 
which  gave  a  new  hue  to  all  my  feelings.  I  could 
feel  that  I  was  an  altered  man. 

I  reached  the.  edge  of  the  prairie,  and  seated 
myself  upon  an  elevated  spot,  under  the  shade  of  a 
large  tree.  The  wide  lawn  was  spread  before  me, 
glowing  with  the  beams  of  the  noon-day  sun.  A 
gentle  breeze  fanned  my  temples  that  were  throb- 
bing with  the  excitement  of  deep  emotion.  The 


96  TIM-:  PIONEER. 

angry  passions  of  my  heart  were  all  hushed.  The 
storm  of  the  soul  had  ceased  to  rage.  Revenge 
was  obliterated.  The  blight  of  disappointment 
IKK!  fallen  upon  me,  and  withered  all  the  currents 
of  feeling.  The  past  was  a  dream — a  chaos. 
New-born  feelings  struggled  for  existence.  I  pro- 
nounced my  sister's  name,  and  burst  into  tears. 

How  grateful  it  is  to  weep  when  the  heart  is 
oppressed  !  How  soothing  is  that  gush  of  tender* 
ness,  which,  as  it  pours  itself  out,  seems  to  relieve 
the  bursting  fountains  of  sensibility,  and  to  draw 
off  a  flood  of  bitterness  from  the  soul ! 

A  more  calm  and  a  more  wholesome  train  of 
reflection  succeeded.  I  had  long  cherished  a 
vision,  which  one  moment  had  destroyed.  In  the 
place  of  an  infant  sister  who  was  lost  to  me,  I  had 
created  the  image  of  an  ideal  being,  who  became 
invested  with  all  the  loveliness  which  an  ardent 
fancy  could  depict — and  giving  the  rein  to  my 
imagination,  I  had  alternately  revenged  her  death, 
or  had  indulged  the  fond  anticipation  of  meeting 
her  a^ain,  not  only  in  the  bloom  of  womanhood, 
but  in  the  possession  of  those  virtues  and  attrac- 
tions which  give  dignity  and  beauty  to  the  female 
character.  She  had  been  the  companion  of  my 
childish  sports ;  and  while  I  cherished  an  intense 
fondness  for  my  early  playmate,  could  I  doubt  that 
her  heart,  if  still  in  existence,  throbbed  with  a 
responsive  feeling  ?  I  had  seen  her,  and  the  illusion 


THE  PIONEER.  9*7 

was  dispelled.  The  murderers  of  our  mother 
and  our  father  had  taken  her  to  their  bosoms,  and 
her  destiny  was  linked  with  theirs.  She  was  the 
wife  and  mother  of  savages. 

Yes — my  sister -, — she,  for  whom  I  would  have 
willingly  offered  up  my  life,  and  whose  image  had 
so  long  been  treasured  in  my  memory,  was  con- 
tented, perhaps  happy,  in  the  embraces  of  a 
savage,  at  the  very  time  when  I  was  lying  in 
ambush  by  the  war-path,  or  painfully  following 
the  trace  of  the  painted  warrior,  to  revenge  her 
supposed  wrongs.  And  she  had  witnessed  from 
childhood  those  atrocious  rites,  the  very  mention 
of  which  causes  the  white  man's  blood  to  curdle 
with  horror,  and  had  grown  familiar  with  scenes 
of  torture  and  murder, — with  the  slaughter  of  the 
defenceless  prisoner,  and  the  shriek  of  the  dying 
victim.  She  had  assisted  in  decking  her  warrior 
husband  for  the  battle  field,  and  received  him  to 
her  arms,  while  the  guilty  flush  of  the  midnight 
massacre  was  still  upon  his  cheek.  She  had 
heard  him  recount  his  exploits.  She  had  listened 
to  the  boastful  repetition  of  his  warlike  deeds, 
wherein  he  spake  of  the  stealthy  march  towards 
the  habitations  of  the  white  man — of  the  darkness 
that  hung  around  the  settler's  cabin — of  the  silence 
and  repose  within — of  the  sudden  onset — of  the 
anguish  of  that  little  family,  aroused  from  slumber 
by  the  flames  curling  over  their  heads,  and  the 
9 


98  THE  FIOXEER. 

\ells  of  savages  around  them— of  the  children 
clin<rinir  to  their  mother,  and  the  wife  slaughtered 
upon  her  hu-band's  hosom — with  all  the  revolting 
particulars  of  those  demoniac  scenes  of  carnage. 
Sin-  had  been  an  attentive  and  an  approving  audi- 
tor, for  h<?r  husband  was  the  narrator  and  the 
hero,  and  her  children  were  destined  to  acquire 
reputation  by  emulating  hi^  achievements. 

It  was  enough  to  have  met  her  in  that  hated 
_jarh — 1<»   ha\e  seen   her  sallow  ch  wary 

eye,  and  her  countenance  veiled  in  the  insipid 
ignorance  of  an  uncivilised  woman — to  have  found 
her  the  drudge  of  an  Indian  hunter — to  have 
learned  that  .she  had  forgotten  her  brother,  and 
become  estranged  from  the  people  of  her  blood — 
but  the  conviction  that  I  !hn^  com- 

panion of  murd»  irift  "fa  trained  assassin, 

weighed  down  my  heart  with  a  pang  of  unutterable 
anguish. 

"  But  if  t,  K  I  .'" 

1  was  startled.     I  looked  around;  for  it  seemed 

as  if  a   TOIQe   had  addressed   me.      But  ther- 

no  one  ni^li — no  form  was  to  be  seen,  and  not  a 

footstep  rustled  the  grass.     It  was  conscience  that 

that  question.     It  was  the  inward  ino\ing 

of  m\  nt.     There  was  nothing  around  me 

to  surest   it.     I  looked  abroad  upon  the  plain, 

ami  all  was  silent,  and  beautiful,  and  bright.     The 

sun    was    shining    in   unclouded    1  r    the 


THE  PIONEER.  99 

spacious  lawn,  the  flowers  bloomed  in  gaudy 
splendour,  the  bee  was  busy,  and  the  bird  sang. 
The  face  of  nature  was  reposing  in  serene  beauty, 
and  every  living  thing  was  cheerful,  except  my- 
self. 

And  why  was  1  unhappy  ?  A  blight  had  fallen 
upon  my  youth,  and  every  tie  that  bound  me  to 
my  race  was  severed.  True :  but  others  had 
been  thus  bereaved,  without  becoming  thus  incur- 
ably miserable.  They  had  formed  new  ties,  and 
become  re-united  to  humanity  by  other  affections, 
while  I  had  refused  to  be  comforted.  They  had 
submitted  to  the  will  of  God,  while  I  had  followed 
the  devices  of  my  own  heart. 

These  reflections  were  painful,  and  I  tried  to 
resume  my  former  train  of  thought.  But  con- 
science had  spoken,  and  no  man  can  hush  its 
voice.  We  may  wander  long  in  error,  the  per- 
verted mind  may  grope  for  years  in  guilt  or  in 
mistake,  but  there  is  a  time  when  that  faithful 
monitor  within,  which  is  ever  true,  will  speak. 
That  small  still  voice,  which  cannot  be  suppressed, 
again  and  again  repeated  'the  appalling  question: 

"  If  they  are  murderers,  what  are  you  ?" 

The  difference,  1  replied,  is  that  between  the 
aggressor  and  the  injured  party.  They  burned 
the  home  of  my  childhood,  arid  murdered  all  my 
kindred.  I  have  revenged  the  wrong.  They 
made  war  upon  my  country,  ravaged  its  borders, 


100  THE  PIONEER. 

i<!\v  its  people.     1   have  struck  them  in  re- 
taliation. 

Hut  had  they  suffered  no  injury?  Was  it  true 
that  they  were  the  first  agressors  ?  I  had  n<  \«  r 
examined  this  question.  Revenge  is  a  poor  casu- 
ist ;  and,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  began  to 
think  it  possible,  that  mutual  aggressions  had 
placed  both  parties  in  the  wrong,  and  that  either 
might  justly  complain  of  the  aggressions  of  the 
other. 

That  which  gave  me  the  most  acute  pain,  and 
which  was  the  immediate  cause  of  the  self-accusa- 
tory train  of  reflection  into  which  1  had  fallm, 
no  conviction  that  nearly  my  whole  life  had 
been  passed  in  delusion.  I  had  imii-ined  the 
death  of  a  sister  who  was  living — I  had  punished, 
as  her  destroyers,  those  who  had  treated  her  \\\\\\ 
kindness — I  had  spent  years  in  a  retaliating  \\ar- 
fare,  which,  so  far  as  she  was  concerned,  was 
unjust.  I  had  watched,  and  fought,  and  H. 
incredible  hardships,  for  one  who  neither  needed 
m\  interference,  claimed  my  protection,  nor  was 
capable  of  feeling  any  gratitude  for  the  sacrifices 
which  I  had  made.  If,  in  respect  to  her,  I  had 
been  thus  far  deluded,  might  1  not  have  been  in 
error  in  regard  to  other  parts  of  my  scheme  ? 
Admitting  that  it  was  justifiable  to  revenge  the 
murder  of  my  parents,  had  I  not  exceeded  the 
equitable  measure  of  retaliation  ?  It  is  one  of  tbc 


THE  PIONEILIU  v  i'Ol 

strongest  arguments  against. -the  ^incipie,  of  re- 
venge, that  it  is  directed  by  no  rule,  and  bounded 
by  no  limit.  The  aggrieved  party  is  the  judge  of 
his  own  wrong,  and  the  executioner  of  his  own 
sentence  ;  and  the  measure  of  recompense  is  sel- 
dom in  proportion  to  the  degree  of  offence. 

When  once  the  heart  is  disturbed  by  suspicions 
of  its  own  rectitude,  and  the  work  of  repentance  is 
commenced,  there  is  no  longer  any  neutral  ground 
upon  which  it  is  satisfied  to  rest.  It  must  smother 
the  suggestions  of  conscience,  or  carry  them  out 
to  complete  conviction*  Adopting  the  latter 
course,  I  went  mournfully  home,  resolved  to  study 
my  own  heart.  Resorting  to  that  sublime  code  of 
morals,  some  of  whose  precepts  had  been  im- 
pressed upon  my  infant  mind  by  the  careful  solici- 
tude of  a  mot-her,  and  testing  my  conduct  by  its 
unerring  rules,  I  learned  to  look  back  with  horror 
upon  the  bloody  path  which  I  had  trod  through 
life  ;  and  I  determined,  by  the  usefulness  of  my 
future  years,  to  endeavour  to  make  some  atone- 
ment for  rny  former  guilty  career  of  crime  and 
passion. 

The  garb  I  now  wear,  and  the  employment  in 
which  you  find  me,  sufficiently  explain  the  result 
of  my  reflections,  'and  the  extent  of  my  reforma- 
tion. 


102 


THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE. 


On  the  borders  of  the  Mississippi  may  be  seen 
mains  of  an  old  French  village,  which  once 
boasted  a  numerous  population  of  as  happy  and  as 
thoughtless  souls  as  ever  danced  to  a  violin.  It 
content  is  wealth,  as  philosophers  would  fain  per- 
suade us,  they  wen  <>|>ul<-nt  :  hut  th**y  would  have 
been  reckoned  miserably  poor  by  those  who  esti- 
mate worldly  rich  -  hy  the  more  popular  standard. 
Their  houses  were  scattered  in  disorder,  like  the 
tents  of  a  wandering  tribe,  along  the  margin  of  a 
deep  bayou,  and  not  far  from  its  confluence  with 
the  river,  between  which  and  the  town  was  a  strip 
of  rich  alluvion,  covered  with  a  gigantic  growth 
of  forest  trees.  Beyond  the  bayou  was  a  swamp, 
which,  during  the  summer  heats,  was  nearly  dry, 
but  in  the  rainy  season  presented  a  vast  lake  of 
several  miles  in  extent.  The  whole  of  this  morass 
was  thickly  set  with  cypress,  whose  interwoven 


THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE.  103 

branches,  and  close  foliage,  excluded  the  sun,  and 
rendered  this  as  gloomy  a  spot  as  the  most  melan- 
choly poet  ever  dreamt  of.  And  yet  it  was  not 
tenantless — and  there  were  seasons  when  its  dark 
recesses  were  enlivened  by  notes  peculiar  to  itself. 
Here  the  young  Indian,  not  yet  entrusted  to  wield 
the  tomahawk,  might  be  seen  paddling  his  light 
canoe  among  the  tall  weeds,  darting  his  arrows  at 
the  paroquets  that  chattered  among  the  boughs, 
and  screaming  and  laughing  with  delight  as  he 
stripped  their  gaudy  plumage.  Here  myriads  of 
musquitoes  filled  the  air  with  an  incessant  hum, 
and  thousands  of  frogs  attuned  their  voices  in  har- 
monious concert,  as  if  endeavouring  to  rival  the 
sprightly  fiddles  of  their  neighbours ;  and  the  owl, 
peeping  out  from  the  hollow  of  a  blasted  tree, 
screeched  forth  his  wailing  note,  as  if  moved  by 
the  terrific  energy  of  grief.  From  this  gloomy 
spot,  clouds  of  miasm  rolled  over  the  village, 
spreading  volumes  of  bile  and  dyspepsia  abroad 
upon  the  land ;  and  sometimes  countless  multi- 
tudes of  musquitoes,  issuing  from  the  humid 
desert,  assailed  the  devoted  village  with  incon- 
ceivable fury,  threatening  to  draw  from  its  inha- 
bitants every  drop  of  French  blood  which  yet 
circulated  in  their  veins.  But  these  evils  by  no 
means  dismayed,  or  even  interrupted  the  gaiety  of 
this  happy  people.  When  the  musquitoes  came, 
the  monsieurs  lighted  their  pipes,  and  kept  up  not 


104  THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE. 

only  a  brisk  fire,  but  a  dense  smoke,  airainst  the 
assailants;  and  when  the  fever  threatened,  the 
priest,  \\lx>  was  also  the  doctor,  flourished  his 
lancet,  the  fiddler  flourished  his  bow,  and  the 
happy  villagers  flourished  their  heels,  and  sang, 
and  laughed,  and  fairly  cheated  death,  disease, 
and  the  doctor,  of  patient  and  of  prey. 

Beyond   the  town,  on  the  other  side,  was  an 

•  \(< n-ivc  pr.iirie — a   vast  unbroken  plain  of  rich 
green,  embellished   with    innumerable    flowers  of 
every  tint,  and  whose  beautiful  surface  presented 
no   other   variety    than    here   and   there   a  huge 
mound — the  veii'-rable  monument  of  departed  ages 
— or  a  solitary  tiro  of  stinted  growth,  shattered 
by  the  blast,  and  pining  alone  in  the  gay  <:• 
The    prospect  was   bounded   by  a   range   of  tall 
Mull's,  which   overlooked  the  prairie — covered  at 
some  points  with  Droves  of  timber,  and  at  others 
exhibiting  their  naked  sides,  or  high,  bald  peaks, 
to  the  eye  of  the  beholder.     Herds  of  di ••  T  miirht 
be  seen  here  at  sunrise,  slyly  retiring  to  their  co- 
verts, after  rioting  away  the  night  on   the  rich 
pasturage.     Here  the  lowing  kine  lived,  if  not  in 

•  •lover,  at  least  in  something  equally  nutritious; 
and  here  might  be  seen  immense  droves  of  French 
ponies,  roaming  untamed,  the  common  stock  of 
the  village,  ready  to  be  reduced  to  servitude  by 
any   lady  or  gentleman  who  chose    t<>    Pike   the 
trouble. 


THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE.  105 

With  their  Indian  neighbours  the  inhabitants 
had  maintained  a  cordial  intercourse,  which  had 
never  yet  been  interrupted  by  a  single  act  of  ag- 
gression on  either  side.  It  is  worthy  of  remark, 
that  the  French  have  invariably  been  more  suc- 
cessful in  securing  the  confidence  and  affection  of 
the  Indian  tribes  than  any  other  nation.  Others 
have  had  leagues  with  them,  which,  for  a  time, 
have  been  faithfully  observed ;  but  the  French 
alone  have  won  them  to  the  familiar  intercourse 
of  social  life,  lived  with  them  in  the  mutual  inter- 
change of  kindness ;  and,  by  treating  them  as 
friends  and  equals,  gained  their  entire  confidence. 
This  result,  which  has  been  attributed  to  the  saga- 
cious policy  of  their  government,  is  perhaps  more 
owing  to  the  conciliatory  manners  of  that  amiable 
people,  and  the  absence  among  them  of  that  insa- 
tiable avarice,  that  boundless  ambition,  that  reck- 
less prodigality  of  human  life,  that  unprincipled 
disregard  of  public  and  solemn  leagues,  which,  in 
the  conquests  of  the  British  and  the  Spaniards, 
have  marked  their  footsteps  with  misery,  and 
blood,  and  desolation. 

This  little  colony  was  composed,  partly,  of  emi^ 
grants  from  France,  and  partly  of  natives — not 
Indians — but  bonajide  French,  born  in  America; 
but  preserving  their  language,  their  manners,  and 
their  agility  in  dancing,  although  several  genera- 
tions had  passed  away  since  their  first  settlement* 


106  THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE. 

Here  they  lived  perfectly  happy,  arid  well  th< -\ 
might — for  they  enjoyed,  to  the  full  extent,  those 
Nestings  on  which  our  declaration  of  inde- 
pendence has  laid  so  much  stress — life,  liberty, 
and  the  pursuit  of  happiness.  Their  lives,  it  is 
true,  were  sometimes  threatened  hy  the  mia-m 
aforesaid  ;  but  this  was  soon  ascertained  to  be  an 
imaginary  danger.  For  whether  it  was  owing  to 
their  temperance,  or  their  cheerfulness,  or  their 
activity,  or  to  their  being  acclimated,  or  to  the 
want  of  attraction  between  French  people  and 
fever,  or  to  all  these  together — certain  it  is,  that 
they  were  blessed  with  a  degree  of  health  only 
enjoyed  by  the  most  favoured  nations.  As  to 
liberty,  the  wild  Indian  scarcely  possessed  more; 
for,  although  the  "  grand  monarque"  had  not  more 
loyal  subjects  in  his  wide  domains,  he  had  never 
condescended  to  honour  them  with  a  single  act  of 
oppression,  unless  the  occasional  visits  of  the  com- 
mandant could  be  so  called  ;  who  sometimes,  when 
levying  supplies,  called  upon  the  village  for  its 
portion,  which  they  always  contributed  .with  many 
protestations  of  gratitude  for  the  honour  conferred 
on  them.  And  as  for  happiness,  they  pursued  no- 
thing else.  Inverting  the  usual  order,  to  enjoy 
life  was  their  daily  business,  to  provide  1 
wants  an  occasional  labour,  sweetened  by  its  brief 
continuance  and  its  abundant  fruit.  They  had  a 
large  body  of  land  around  the  village,  held  in  par- 


THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE.  107 

eels  by  individuals,  to  whom  it  was  granted  by  the 
crown.  Most  of  this  was  allowed  to  remain  in 
open  pasturage  ;  but  a  considerable  tract,  including 
the  lands  of  a  number  of  individuals,  was  inclosed 
in  a  single  fence,  and  called  the  "  common  field," 
in  which  all  worked  harmoniously,  though  each 
cultivated  his  own  acres.  They  were  not  an  agri- 
cultural people,  further  than  the  rearing  of  a  few 
esculents  for  the  table  made  them  such ;  relying 
chiefly  on  their  large  herds,  and  on  the  produce 
of  the  chase,  for  support.  With  the  Indians  they 
drove  an  amicable,  though  not  extensive,  trade 
for  furs  and  peltry ;  giving  them  in  exchange  mer- 
chandise and  trinkets,  which  they  procured  from 
their  countrymen  at  St.  Louis.  To  the  latter 
place  they  annually  carried  their  skins,  bringing 
back  a  fresh  supply  of  goods  for  barter,  together 
with  such  articles  as  their  own  wants  required ; 
not  forgetting  a  large  portion  of  finery  for  the 
ladies,  a  plentiful  supply  of  rosin  arid  catgut  for 
the  fiddler,  and  liberal  presents  for  his  reverence, 
the  priest. 

If  this  village  had  no  other  recommendation,  it 
is  endeared  to  my  recollection  as  the  birth-place 
and  residence  of  Monsieur  Baptiste  Menou,  who 
was  one  of  its  principal  inhabitants  when  I  first 
visited  it.  He  was  a  bachelor  of  forty,  a  tall, 
lank,  hard-featured  personage,  as  straight  as  a 
ramrod,  and  almost  as  thin,  with  stiff,  black  hair, 


108  THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE. 

sunken  cheeks,  and  a  complexion  a  tinge  darker 
than  that  of  the  aborigines.  His  person  was  re- 
markahly  erect,  his  countenance  grave,  his  gait 
deliberate ;  and  when  to  all  this  be  added  an  enor- 
mous pair  of  sable  whiskers,  it  will  be  admitted 
that  Mons.  Baptiste  was  no  insignificant  person. 
Me  had  many  estimable  qualities  of  mind  and 
person,  which  endeared  him  to  his  friends,  whose 
respect  HIM  mumped  by  the  fact  of  hi^  1 
been  a  soldier  anil  a  traveller.  In  bis  youth  be 
had  followed  the  French  commandant  in  two  cam- 
i- ;  and  not  a  comrade  in  the  ranks  was  better 
dressed,  or  cleaner  shaved,  on  parade  than  Bap- 
tittej  who  fought,  besides,  with  the  characteristic 
bravery  of  the  nation  to  which  be  owed  bis  lineage. 
Me  pcfcttOiriedged,  i  Mrat  war  was  not  as 

pleasant  a  business  as  is  generally  supposed.  Ac- 
customed to  a  life  totally  free  from  < on-tramt,  the 
discipline  of  the  camp  ill  accorded  with  hi- 
tory  habits,  lie  complained  of  being  obliged  to 
eat.  and  drink,  and  sleep,  at  the  call  of  the  drum. 
Burnishing  a  gun,  and  brushing  a  coat,  and  polish- 
ing shoes,  were  duties  beneath  a  gentleman ;  and, 
after  all,  Baptiste  saw  but  little  honour  in  tracking 
the  wily  Indians  through  endless  swamps.  Be- 
<ides,  he  be^an  to  have  some  scruples  as  to  the 
propriety  of  cutting  the  throats  of  the  respectable 
gentry  whom  be  bad  been  in  th-:  habit  of  consi- 
dering as  the  original  and  lawful  possessors  of  the 


THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE.  109 

soil.  He  therefore  proposed  to  resign,  and  was 
surprised  when  his  commander  informed  him  that 
he  was  enlisted  for  a  term,  which  was  not  yet 
expired.  He  bowed,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
submitted  to  his  fate.  He  had  too  much  honour 
to  desert,  and  was  too  loyal,  and  too  polite,  to 
murmur ;  but  he,  forthwith,  made  a  solemn  vow 
to  his  patron  saint,  never  again  to  get  into  a  scrape 
from  which  he  could  not  retreat  whenever  it  suited 
his  convenience.  It  was  thought  that  he  owed 
his  celibacy,  in  some  measure,  to  this  vow.  He 
had  since  accompanied  the  friendly  Indians  on 
several  hunting  expeditions,  towards  the  sources 
of  the  Mississippi,  and  had  made  a  trading  voyage 
to  New  Orleans.  Thus  accomplished,  he  had 
been  more  than  once  called  upon  by  the  com- 
mandant to  act  as  a  guide,  or  an  interpreter — 
honours  which  failed  not  to  elicit  suitable  marks 
of  respect  from  his  fellow  villagers,  but  which  had 
not  inflated  the  honest  heart  of  Baptiste  with  any 
unbecoming  pride;  on  the  contrary,  there  was 
not  a  more  modest  man  in  the  village. 

In  his  habits,  he  was  the  most  regular  of  men. 
He  might  be  seen  at  any  hour  of  the  day,  either 
sauntering  through  the  village,  or  seated  in  front 
of  his  own  door,  smoking  a  large  pipe  formed  of  a 
piece  of  buck-horn,  curiously  hollowed  out,  and 
lined  with  tin  ;  to  which  was  affixed  a  short  stem 
of  cane  from  the  neighbouring  swamp.  This  pipe 
10 


110  THE  FBENCH  VILLAGE. 

was  his  inseparable  companion;  and  he  evinced 
towards  it  a  constancy  which  would  have  immor- 
talized his  name,  had  it  been  displayed  in  a  better 
cause.  When  he  walked  abroad,  it  was  to  stroll 
leisurely  from  door  to  door,  chatting  familiarly 
with  his  neighbours,  patting  the  white-haired 
children  on  the  head,  and  continuing  his  lounge 
until  he  had  peregrinated  the  village.  His  gra- 
vity was  not  a  "  mysterious  carriage  of  the  body 
to  conceal  the  defects  of  the  mind,"  but  a  consti- 
tutional seriousness  of  aspect,  which  covered  as 
happy  and  as  humane  a  spirit  as  ever  existed.  It 
was  simply  a  want  of  sympathy  between  his  mus- 
cles and  his  brains ;  the  former  utterly  refusing  to 
express  any  agreeable  sensation  which  might  haply 
titillate  the  organs  of  the  latter.  Honest  Baptistc- 
loved  a  joke,  and  uttered  many  and  good  ones; 
but  his  rigid  features  refused  to  smile  even  at  his 
own  wit — a  circumstance  which  I  am  the  more 
particular  in  mentioning,  as  it  is  not  common. 
He  had  an  orphan  niece,  whom  he  had  reared 
from  childhood  to  maturity, — a  lovely  girl,  of 
whose  beautiful  complexion  a  poet  might  say,  that 
its  roses  were  cushioned  upon  ermine.  A  sweeter 
flower  bloomed  not  upon  the  prairie,  than  Gabrielle 
Menou.  But  as  she  was  never  afflicted  with  weak 
nerves,  dyspepsia,  or  consumption,  and  had  but 
one  avowed  lover,  whom  she  treated  with  uniform 
kindness,  and  married  with  the  consent  of  all  par- 


THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE,  111 

ties,  she  has  no  claim  to  be  considered  as  the 
heroine  of  this  history.  That  station  will  be 
cheerfully  awarded,  by  every  sensible  reader,  to 
the  more  important  personage  who  will  be  pre- 
sently introduced. 

Across  the  street,  immediately  opposite  to  Mons. 
Baptiste,  lived  Mademoiselle  Jeanette  Duval,  a  lady 
who  resembled  him  in  some  respects,  but  in  many 
others  was  his  very  antipode.  Like  him,  she  was 
cheerful,  and  happy,  and  single — but  unlike  him, 
she  was  brisk,  and  fat,  and  plump.  Monsieur  was 
the  very  pink  of  gravity ;  and  Mademoiselle  was 
blessed  with  a  goodly  portion  thereof, — but  hers 
was  specific  gravity.  Her  hair  was  dark,  but  her 
heart  was  light ;  and  her  eyes,  though  black,  were 
as  brilliant  a  pair  of  orbs  as  ever  beamed  upon  the 
dreary  solitude  of  a  bachelor's  heart.  Jeanette's 
heels  were  as  light  as  her  heart,  and  her  tongue 
as  active  as  her  heels;  so  that,  notwithstanding 
her  rotundity,  she  was  as  brisk  a  Frenchwoman 
as  ever  frisked  through  the  mazes  of  a  cotillion. 
To  sum  her  perfections,  her  complexion  was  of  a 
darker  olive  than  the  genial  sun  of  France  confers 
on  her  brunettes,  and  her  skin  was  as  smooth  and 
shining  as  polished  mahogany.  Her  whole  house- 
hold consisted  of  herself  and  a  female  negro  ser- 
vant. A  spacious  garden,  which  surrounded  her 
house,  a  pony,  and  a  herd  of  cattle,  constituted,  in 
addition  to  her  personal  charms,  all  the  wealth  of 


112  THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE. 

this  amiable  spinster.  But  with  these  she  was 
rich,  as  they  supplied  her  table  without  adding 
much  to  her  cares.  Her  quadrupeds,  according 
to  the  example  set  by  their  superiors,  pursued 
their  own  happiness,  without  let  or  molestation, 
wherever  they  could  find  it — waxing  fat  or  lean, 
as  nature  was  more  or  less  bountiful  in  supplying 
their  wants ;  and  when  they  strayed  too  far,  or 
when  her  agricultural  labours  became  too  arduous 
for  the  feminine  strength  of  herself  and  her  sable 
assistant,  every  monsieur  of  the  village  was  proud 
of  an  occasion  to  serve  Mam'selle.  And  well  they 
might  be ;  for  she  was  the  most  notable  lady  in 
the  village,  the  life  of  every  party,  the  soul  of 
every  frolic.  She  participated  in  every  fe-tive 
meeting,  and  every  sad  solemnity.  Not  a  neigh- 
bour could  get  up  a  dance,  or  get  down  a  dose  of 
bark,  without  her  assistance.  If  the  ball  grew 
dull,  Mam'selle  bounced  on  the  floor,  and  infused 
new  spirit  into  the  weary  dancers.  If  the  conver- 
sation flagged,  Jeanette,  who  occupied  a  kind  of 
neutral  ground  between  the  young  and  the  old,  the 
married  and  the  single,  chatted  with  all,  and  loos- 
ened all  tongues.  If  the  girls  wished  to  stroll  in 
the  woods,  or  romp  on  the  prairie,  Mam'selle  was 
taken  along  to  keep  off  the  wolves  and  the  rude 
young  men ;  and,  in  respect  to  the  latter,  she 
faithfully  performed  her  office  by  attracting  them 
around  her  own  person.  Then  she  was  the  best 


THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE.  113 

neighbour  and  the  kindest  soul !  She  made  the 
richest  soup,  the  clearest  coffee,  and  the  neatest 
pastry  in  the  village ;  and,  in  virtue  of  her  con- 
fectionary, was  the  prime  favourite  of  all  the 
children.  Her  hospitality  was  not  confined  to 
her  own  domicil,  but  found  its  way,  in  the  shape 
of  sundry  savoury  viands,  to  every  table  in  the 
vicinity.  In  the  sick  chamber  she  was  the  most 
assiduous  nurse,  her  step  was  the  lightest,  and  her 
voice  the  most  cheerful — so  that  the  priest  must 
inevitably  have  become  jealous  of  her  skill,  had  it 
not  been  for  divers  plates  of  rich  soup,  and  bottles 
of  cordial,  with  which  she  conciliated  his  favour, 
and  purchased  absolution  for  these  and  other  of- 
fences. 

Baptiste  and  Jeanette  were  the  best  of  neigh- 
bours. He  always  rose  at  the  dawn,  and,  after 
lighting  his  pipe,  sallied  forth  into  the  open  air, 
where  Jeanette  usually  made  her  appearance  at 
the  same  time  ;  for  there  was  an  emulation  of  long 
standing  between  them,  which  should  be  the  ear- 
liest riser. 

"  Bon  jour  !  Mam'selle  Jeanette,"  was  his  daily 
salutation. 

"  Ah  !  bon  jour !  bon  jour !  Mons.  Menou,"  was 
her  daily  reply. 

Then,  as  he  gradually  approximated  the  little 
paling  which  surrounded  her  door,  he  hoped  Mam'- 
selle was  well  this  morning;  and  she  reiterated 
10* 


114  THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE. 

the  kind  enquiry,  but  with  increased  emphasis. 
Then  Monsieur  enquired  after  Mam'selle's  pony, 
and  Mam'selle's  cow,  and  her  garden,  and  every 
thing  appertaining  to  her,  real,  personal,  and 
mixed ;  and  she  displayed  a  corresponding  inte- 
rest in  all  concerns  of  her  kind  neighbour.  These 
<lis< Missions  were  mutually  beneficial.  If  Mam'- 
selle's cattle  ailed,  or  if  her  pony  was  guilty  of 
any^  impropriety,  who  so  able  to  advise  her  as 
Mons.  Baptiste  ?  and  if  his  plants  drooped,  or  his 
poultry  died,  who  so  skilful  in  such  matters  as 
Mam'selle  Jeanette?  Sometimes  Baptiste  forgot 
his  pipe,  in  the  superior  interest  of  the  "  tete  a 
tete,"  and  must  needs  step  in  to  light  it  at  Jean- 
etftt'f  fire,  which  caused  the  gossips  of  the  village 
to  say,  that  he  purposely  let  his  pipe  go  out,  in 
order  that  ho  mi^ht  himself  go  in.  But  he  denied 
this;  and,  indeed,  before  offering  to  enter  the 
dwelling  of  Mam'selle  on  such  occasions,  he  usu- 
ally solicited  permission  to  light  his  pipe  at  Jean- 
ette's  sparkling  eyes — a  compliment  at  which, 
although  it  had  been  repeated  some  scores  of 
times,  Mam'selle  never  failed  to  laugh  and  curtsey 
with  great  good  humour  and  good  breeding. 

It  cannot  be  supposed  that  a  bachelor  of  so  much 
discernment  could  long  remain  insensible  to  the 
galaxy  of  charms  which  centred  in  the  person  of 
Mam'selle  Jeanette;  and,  accordingly,  it  was  cur- 
rently reported  that  a  courtship,  of  some  ten  years 


THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE.  115 

standing,  had  been  slyly  conducted  on  his  part, 
and  as  cunningly  eluded  on  hers.  It  was  not 
averred  that  Baptiste  had  actually  gone  the  fear- 
ful length  of  offering  his  hand,  or  that  Jeanette 
had  been  so  imprudent  as  to  discourage,  far  less 
reject,  a  lover  of  such  respectable  pretensions. 
But  there  was  thought  to  exist  a  strong  hankering 
on  the  part  of  the  gentleman,  which  the  lady  had 
managed  so  skilfully  as  to  keep  his  mind  in  a  kind 
of  equilibrium,  like  that  of  the  patient  animal  be- 
tween the  two  bundles  of  hay— so  that  he  would 
sometimes  halt  in  the  street,  midway  between  the 
two  cottages,  and  cast  furtive  glances,  first  at  the 
one,  and  then  at  the  other,  as  if  weighing  the 
balance  of  comfort ;  while  the  increased  volumes 
of  smoke,  which  issued  from  his  mouth,  seemed 
to  argue  that  the  fire  of  his  love  had  other  fuel 
than  tobacco,  and  was  literally  consuming  the  in- 
ward man.  The  wary  spinster  was  always  on  the 
alert  on  such  occasions,  manoeuvring  like  a  skil- 
ful general  according  to  circumstances.  If  honest 
Baptiste,  after  such  a  consultation,  turned  on  his 
heel,  and  retired  to  his  former  cautious  position  at 
his  own  door,  Mam'selle  rallied  all  her  attractions, 
and  by  a  sudden  demonstration  drew  him  again 
into  the  field ;  but  if  he  marched  with  an  embar- 
rassed air  .towards  her  gate,  she  retired  into  her 
castle,  or  kept  shy,  and,  by  able  evolutions,  avoided 
every  thing  which  might  bring  matters  to  an  issue. 


110  THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE. 

Thus  the  courtship  continued  longer  than  the  siege 
ol  Troy,  and  Jeanette  maintained  her  freedom, 
while  l>a{)ti>tc,  with  a  magnanimity  superior  to 
that  of  Agamemnon,  kept  his  temper,  and  smoked 
his  pipe  in  good  humour  with  Jeanette  and  all  the 
world. 

Such  was  the  situation  of  affairs  when  I  first 
visited  this  village,  about  the  time  of  the  cession 
of  Louisiana  to  the  United  States.  The  news  of 
that  event  had  just  reached  this  sequestered  spot, 
and  was  hut  indifferently  relished.  Independently 
of  the  national  attachment  which  all  men  feel,  and 
the  French  so  justly,  the  inhabitants  of  this  region 
had  reason  to  prefer,  to  all  others,  tho  government 
whirh  had  afforded  them  protection  without  con- 
straining their  freedom,  or  subjecting  them  to  any 
burthens;  and  with  the  kindest  feelings  towards 
the  Americans,  they  would  willingly  have  dis- 
pensed  with  any  nearer  connection  than  that 
which  already  existed.  They,  however,  said  little 
on  the  subject;  and  that  little  was  expressive  of 
their  cheerful  acquiescence  in  the  honour  done 
them  by  the  American  people,  in  buying  the  coun- 
try, which  the  emperor  had  done  them  the  honour 
to  sell. 

It  was  on  the  first  day  of  the  Carnival  that  I 
arrived  in  the  village,  about  sunset,  seeking  shelter 
only  for  the  night,  and  intending  to  proceed  on  my 
journey  in  the  morning.  The  notes  of  the  violin. 


THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE.  117 

and  the  groups  of  gaily  attired  people  who  thronged 
the  street,  attracted  my  attention,  and  induced  me 
to  enquire  the  occasion  of  this  merriment.  My 
host  informed  me  that  a  "  king  ball"  was  to  be 
given  at  the  house  of  a  neighbour,  adding  the 
agreeable  intimation,  that  strangers  were  always 
expected  to  attend  without  invitation.  Young  and 
ardent,  little  persuasion  was  required  to  induce  me 
to  change  my  dress,  and  hasten  to  the  scene  of 
festivity.  The  moment  I  entered  the  room,  I  felt 
that  I  was  welcome.  Not  -a  single  look  of  sur- 
prise, not  a  glance  of  more  than  ordinary  atten- 
tion, denoted  me  as  a  stranger  or  an  unexpected 
guest.  The  gentlemen  nearest  the  door  bowed  as 
they  opened  a  passage  for  me  through  the  crowd, 
in  which  for  a  time  I  mingled,  apparently  unno- 
ticed. At  length  a  young  gentleman,  adorned 
with  a  large  nosegay,  approached  me,  invited 
me  to  join  the  dancers,  and,  after  enquiring  my 
name,  introduced  me  to  several  females,  among 
whom  I  had  no  difficulty  in  selecting  a  graceful 
partner.  I  was  passionately  fond  of  dancing,  so 
that,  readily  imbibing  the  joyous  spirit  of  those 
around  me,  I  advanced  rapidly  in  their  estimation. 
The  native  ease  and  elegance  of  the  females,  reared 
in  the  wilderness  and  unhackriied  in  the  forms  of 
society,  surprised  and  delighted  me  as  much  as 
the  amiable  frankness  of  all  classes.  By  and  by 
the  dancing  ceased,  and  four  young  ladies  of  ex> 


118  THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE. 

quisite  beauty,  who  had  appeared  during  the  even- 
ing to  assume  more  consequence  than  the  others, 
stood  alone  on  the  floor.  For  a  moment  their 
arch  glances  wandered  over  the  company  who 
stood  silently  around,  when  one  of  them,  advanc- 
ing to  a  young  gentleman,  led  him  into  the  circle, 
and.  taking  a  large  bouquet  from  her  own  bosom, 
pinned  it  upon  the  left  breast  of  his  coat,  and  pro- 
nounced him  "KING!"  The  gentleman  ki- 

Star,  :nid  led  her  to  a  seat.  Two  others 
were  selected  almost  at  the  same  moment.  The 
fourth  lady  hesitated  for  an  instant,  then  advancing 
to  the  spot  where  I  stood,  presented  me  her  hand, 
led  me  forward,  and  placed  the  symbol  on  my 
lnv;M,  hi -t«u »•  I  could  recover  from  the  surprise 
into  which  the  incident  had  thrown  me.  I  re- 

1  my  presence  of  mind,  however,  in  time  to 
salute  my  lovely  consort;  and  never  did  king 
enjoy,  with  more  delight,  the  first  fruits  of  his 
elevation — for  the  beautiful  Gabrielle,  with  whom 
I  had  just  danced,  and  who  had  so  unexpectedly 
raised  me,  as  it  were,  to  the  purple,  was  the  fresh- 
est and  fairest  flower  in  this  gay  assemblage. 

This  ceremony  was  soon  explained  to  me.     On 
the  first  day  of  the  Carnival,  four  self-appointed 

,  having  selected  their  queens,  give  a  ball,  at 
their  own  proper  costs,  to  the  .whole  village.  In 
the  course  of  that  evening  the  queens  select,  in 
the  manner  described,  the  kings  for  the  ensuing 


THE  TRENCH  VILLAGE.  119 

day,  who  choose  their  queens,  in  turn,  by  present- 
ing the  nosegay  and  the  kiss.  This  is  repeated 
every  evening  in  the  week ; — the  kings,  for  the 
time  being,  giving  the  ball  at  their  own  expense, 
and  all  the  inhabitants  attending  without  invita- 
tion. On  the  morning  after  each  ball,  the  kings 
of  the  preceding  evening  make  small  presents  to 
their  late  queens,  and  their  temporary  alliance  is 
dissolved.  Thus  commenced  my  acquaintance 
with  Gabrielle  Menou,  who,  if  she  cost  me  a  few 
sleepless  nights,  amply  repaid  me  in  the  many 
happy  hours  for  which  I  was  indebted  to  her 
friendship.  « 

I  remained  several  weeks  at  this  hospitable  vil- 
lage. Few  evenings  passed  without  a  dance,  at 
which  all  were  assembled,  young  and  old ;  the 
mothers  vying  in  agility  with  their  daughters, 
and  the  old  men  setting  examples  of  gallantry  to 
the  young.  I  accompanied  their  young  men  to 
the  Indian  towns,  and  was  hospitably  entertained. 
I  followed  them  to  the  chase,  and  witnessed  the 
fall  of  many  a  noble  buck.  In  their  light  canoes 
I  glided  over  the  turbid  waters  of  the  Mississippi, 
or  through  the  labyrinths  of  the  morass,  in  pursuit 
of  water  fowl.  I  visited  the  mounds,  where  the 
bones  of  thousands  of  warriors  were  mouldering, 
.  overgrown  with  prairie  violets  and  thousands  of 
nameless  flowers.  I  saw  the  mocasin  snake  bask- 
ing in  the  sun,  the  elk  feeding  on  the  prairie ;  and 


120  THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE. 

returned  to  mingle  in  the  amusements  of  a  circle, 
where,  if  there  was  not  Parisian  elegance,  there 
was  more  than  Parisian  cordiality. 

Several  years  passed  away  before  I  again  visited 
this  country.  The  jurisdiction  of  the  Amenran 
government  was  now  extended  over  this  imni'  n-< 
region,  and  its  beneficial  Hil-<-t>  \\ere  l^Mnming  to 
be  widely  disseminated.  The  roads  were  crowded 
with  the  t'-ams,  and  herds,  and  families  of  emi- 
grant s,  hastening  to  the  land  of  promise..  Steam- 
boats navigated  every  stream,  the  axe  was  heard 
in  every  forest,  and  the  plough  broke  the  sod 
whose  verdure  had  covered  the  prairie  for  ages. 

It  was  sunset  when  I  reached  the  margin  of  the 
prairie  on  which  the  village  is  situated.  My  horse, 
•retried  \\ith  u  long  day's  travel,  sprung  forward 
with  new  vigour  when  his  hoof  >tnirk  the  smooth, 
linn  road  which  led  across  the  plain.  It  was  a 
narrow  path,  winding  among  the  tall  grass,  now 
tinged  with  the  mellow  hues  of  autumn.  I  gazed 
with  delight  over  the  beautiful  surface.  The 
mounds  and  the  solitary  trees  were  there,  just 
as  I  had  left  them,  and  they  w.ere  familiar  to  my 
e\e  as  the  objects  of  yesterday.  It  was  eight 
miles  across  the  prairie,  and  I  had  not  \< 
half  the  distance  when  night  set  in.  I  strained 
my  eyes  to  catch  a  glimpse,  of  the  village,  but 
two  large  mounds,  and  a  clump  of  trees  which 
intervened,  defeated  my  purpose.  I  thought  of 


THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE  121 

Gabrielle,  and  Jeanette,  and  Baptiste,  and  the 
priest — the  fiddles,  dances,  and  French  ponies; 
and  fancied  every  minute  an  hour,  and  every  foot 
a  mile,  which  separated  me  from  scenes  and  per- 
sons so  deeply  impressed  on  my  imagination. 

At  length  I  passed  the  mounds,  and  beheld  the 
lights  twinkling  in  the  village,  now  about  two 
miles  off,  like  a  brilliant  constellation  in- the  hori- 
zon. The  lights  seemed  very  numerous — I  thought 
they  moved,  and  at  last  discovered  that  they  were 
rapidly  passing  about.  "  What  can  be  going  on 
in  the.  village  ?"  thought  I — then  a  strain  of  music 
met  my  ear — "  they  are  going  to  dance,"  said  I, 
striking  my  spurs  into  my  jaded  nag,  "  and  I  shall 
see  all  my  friends  together."  But  as  I  drew  near 
a  volume  of  sounds  burst  upon  me,  such  as  defied 
all  conjecture.  Fiddles,  flutes  and  tambourines, 
drums,  cow-horns,  tin  trumpets,  and  kettles,  min- 
gled their  discordant  notes  with  a  strange  accom- 
paniment of  laughter,  shouts,  and  singing.  This 
singular  concert  proceeded  from  a  mob  of  men 
and  boys  -who  paraded  through  the  streets,  pre- 
ceded by  'one  who  blew  an  immense  tin  horn,  and 
ever  and  anon  shouted, "  Cha-ri-va-ry !  Charivary !" 
to  which  the  mob  responded,  "  Charivary !"  I 
now  recollected  to  have  heard  of  a  custom  which 
prevails  among  the  American  French,  of  serenad- 
ing, at  ttye  marriage  of  a  widow  or  widower,  with 
such  a  concert  as  I  now  witnessed ;  and  I  rode 
11 


122  THE  FBENCH  VILLAGE. 

towards  the  crowd,  who  had  halted  before  a  well- 
known  door,  to  ascertain  who  were  the  happy 
parties. 

K  ( 'harivary !"  shouted  the  leader. 

"  Pour  qui '?"  said  another  voice. 

"  Pour  Mons.  Baptiste  Menou,  il  est  marie  !" 

"  Avec  qui  V 

u  Avec  Mam'selle  Jeanette  Duval — Charivary  1" 

"  Charivary  !"  shouted  the  whole  company,  and 
a  torrent  of  music  poured  from  the  full  band — tin 
kettles,  cow-horns  and  ail. 

The  door  of  the  little  cabin,  whose  hospitable 
threshold  I  had  so  often  crossed,  now  opened,  and 
Baptiste  made  his  appearance — the  identical,  lank, 
sallow,  erect  personage,  with  whom  I  had  parted 
several  years  before,  with  the  same  pipe  in  his 
mouth.  His  visage  was  as  long  and  as  melancholy 
as  ever,  except  that  there  was  a  slight  tinge  of 
triumph  in  its  expression,  and  a  bashful  casting 
down  of  the  eye — reminding  one  of  a  conqueror, 
proud  but  modest  in  his  glory.  He  gazed  with  an 
embarrassed  air  at  the  serenaders,  bowed  repeat- 
edly, as  if  conscious  that  he  was  the  hero  of  the 
night,  and  then  exclaimed — 

"  For  what  you  make  this  charivary  ?" 

"Charivary!"  shouted  the  mob;  and  the  tin 
trumpets  gave  an  exquisite  flourish. 

u  Gentlemen !"  expostulated  the  bryjegroom, 
"for  why  you  make  this  charivary  for  me?  1 


THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE.  123 

have  never  been  marry  before — and  Mam'selle 
Jeanette  bas  never  been  marry  before !" 

Roll  went  the  drum ! — cow-horns,  kettles,  tin 
trumpets,  and  fiddles,  poured  forth  volumes  of 
sound,  and  the  mob  shouted  in  unison, 

"  Gentlemen !  pardonnez-moi — "  supplicated  the 
distressed  Baptiste.  "  If  I  understan  dis  custom, 
which  have  long  prevail  vid  us,  it  is  vat  I  say — 
ven  a  gentilman,  who  has  been  marry  before,  shall 
marry  de  second  time — or  ven  a  lady  have  de 
misfortune  to  loose  her  husban,  and  be  so  happy 
to  marry  some  odder  gentilman,  den  we  make  de 
charivary — but  'tis  not  so  wid  Mam'selle  Duval 
and  me.  Upon  my  honour  we  have '  never  been 
marry  before  dis  time  !" 

"  Why,  Baptiste,"  said  one,  "  you  certainly  have- 
been  married,  and  have  a  daughter  grown." 

"Oh,  excuse  me,  sir!  Madame  St.  Marie  is 
my  niece  ;  I  have  never  been  so  happy  to  be  marry, 
until  Mam'selle  Duval  have  do  me  dis  honneur." 

"  Well,  well !  it's  all  one.  If  you  have  not  been 
married,  you  ought  to  have  been,  long  ago : — and 
might  have -been,  if  you  had  said  the  word." 

"  Ah,  gentilrnen,  you  mistake." 

"  No,  no  !  there's  no  mistake  about  it.  Mam'- 
selle Jeanette  would  have  had  you  ten  years  ago, 
if  you  had  asked  her." 

"  You  flatter  too  much,"  said  Baptiste,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders  ; — and  finding  there  was  no 


124  THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE. 

means  of  avoiding  the  charivary,  he,  with  great 
good  humour,  accepted  the  serenade,  and,  accord- 
ing to  custom,  invited  the  whole  party  into  his 
house. 

I  retired  to  my  former  quarters,  at  the  house  of 
an  old  settler — a  little,  shrivelled,  facetious  French- 
man,  whom  I  found  in  his  red  flannel  night-cap, 
smoking  his  pipe,  and  seated  like  Jupiter  in  the 
midst  of  clouds  of  his  own  creating. 

"  Merry  doings  in  the  village  !"  said  I,  after  we 
had  shaken  hands. 

"  Eh,  bien !  Moos.  Baptiste  is  marry  to  Mam'- 
selle  Jeanette." 

"  I  see  the  boys  are  making  merry  on  the  occa- 
sion." 

"  Ah,  sacre !  de  dem  boy  !  they  have  play  hell 
to  night." 

"Indeed!  how  so?" 

"  For  make  dis  charivary— dat  is  how  so,  my 
friend.  Dis  come  for  have  d'  Americain  govern- 
ment to  rule  de  count rie.  Parbleu !  they  make 
charivary  for  de  old  maid  and  de  old  bachelor !" 

I  now  fotind  thut  some  of  the  new  settlers,  who 
had  witnessed  this  ludicrous  ceremony  without 
exactly  understanding  its  application,  had  been 
foremost  in  promoting  the  present  irregular  exhi- 
bition, in  conjunction  with  a  few  degenerate  French, 
whose  love  of  fun  outstripped  their  veneration  for 
their  ancient  usages.  The  old  inhabitants,  aJ- 


THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE.  125 

though  they  joined  in  the  laugh,  were  nevertheless 
not  a  little  scandalised  at  the  innovation.  Indeed, 
they  had  good  reason  to  be  alarmed ;  for  their 
ancient  customs,  like  their  mud-walled  cottages, 
were  crumbling  to  ruins  around  them,  and  every 
day  destroyed  some  vestige  of  former  years. 

Upon  enquiry,  I  found  that  many  causes  of  dis- 
content had  combined  to  embitter  the  lot  of  my 
simple-hearted  friends.  Their  ancient  allies,  the 
Indians,  had  sold  their  hunting  grounds,  and  their 
removal  deprived  the  village  of  its  only  branch  of 
commerce.  Surveyors  were  busily  employed  in 
measuring  off  the  whole  country,  with  the  avowed 
intention,  on  the  part  of  the  government,  of  con- 
verting into  private,  property  those  beautiful  regions 
which  had  heretofore  been  free  to  all  who  trod 
the  soil  or  breathed  the  air.  Portions  of  it  were 
already  thus  occupied.  Farms  and  villages  were 
spreading  over  the  country  with  alarming  rapidity, 
deforming  the  face  of  nature,  and  scaring  the  elk 
and  the  buffalo  from  their  long  frequented  ranges. 
Yankees  and  Kerituckians  were  pouring  in,  bring- 
ing with  them  the  selfish  distinctions  and  destruc- 
tive spirit  of  society.  Settlements  were  planted 
in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  village ;  and  the 
ancient  heritage  of  the  'ponies  was  invaded  by  the 
ignoble  beasts  of  the  interlopers.  Certain  preg- 
nant indications  of  civil  degeneration  were  alive 
in  the  land.  A  county  had  been  established,  with 


126  THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE. 

a  judge,  a  clerk,  and  a  sheriff;  a  court-house  and 
jail  were  about  to  be  built;  two  lawyers  had 
aln -,id\  made  a  lodgment  at  the  county  site;  and 
a  number  of  justices  of  the  peace,  and  constables, 
were  dispersed  throughout  a  small  neighbourhood 
of  not  more  than  fifty  miles  in  extent.  A  brace 
uf  physicians  had  floated  in  with  the  stream  of 
population,  and  several  other  persons  of  the  same 
cloth  were  seen  passing  about,  brandishing  their 
lancets  in  the  most  hostile  manner.  The  French 
argued  very  reasonably  from  all  these  premises— 
that  a  people  who  brought  their  own  doctors  ex- 
1  to  be  sick,  and  that  those  who  commenced 
operations  in  a  new  country,  by  providing  so  many 
engines  and  ollicers  of  justice,  must  certainly  intend 
to  be  very  wicked  and  litigious.  But  when  the 
new  comers  went  the  fearful  length  of  enrolling 
them  in  tlie  militia;  when  the  sheriff,  arrayed  in 
all  the  terrors  of  his  office,  rode  into  the  village, 
and  summoned  them  to  attend  the  court  as  jurors; 
when  they  heard  the  judge  enumerate  to  the  grand 
jury  the  long  list  of  offences  which  fell  within  their 
coniii/uK-e; — these  good  folks  shook  their  heads, 
and  declared  that  this  was  no  longer  a  country  for 
them. 

From  that  time  the  village  began  to  depopulate. 
Some  of  its  inhabitants  followed  the  footsteps  of 
the  Indians,  and  continue,  to  this  day,  to  trade 
between  them  and  the  whites — forming  a  kind  of 


THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE.  127 

link  between  civilised  and  savage  men.  A  larger 
portion,  headed  by  the  priest,  floated  down  the 
Mississippi,  to  seek  congenial  society  among  the 
sugar  plantations  of  their  countrymen  in  the  south. 
They  found  a  pleasant  spot  on  the  margin  of  a 
large  bayou,  whose  placid  stream  was  enlivened 
by  droves  of  alligators,  sporting  their  innocent 
gambols  on  its  surface.  Swamps,  extending  in 
every  direction,  protected  them  from  further  intru- 
sion. Here  a  new  village  arose,  and  a  young 
generation  of  French  was  born,  as  happy  and  as 
careless  as  that  which  is  passing  away. 

Baptiste  alone  adhered  to  the  soil  of  his  fathers, 
and  Jeanette,  in  obedience  to  her  marriage  vow, 
cleaved  to  Baptiste.  He  sometimes  talked  of  fol- 
lowing his  clan,  but  when  the  hour  came  he  could 
never  summon  fortitude  to  pull  up  his  stakes.  He 
had  passed  so  many  happy  years  of  single  blessed- 
ness in  his  own  cabin,  and  had  been  so  long  accus- 
tomed to  view  that  of  Jeanette  with  a  wistful  eye, 
that  they  had  become  necessary  to  his  happiness. 
Like  other  idle  bachelors,  he  had  had  his  day- 
dreams, pointing  to  future  enjoyment.  He  had 
been,  for  years,  planning  the  junction  of  his  do- 
mains with  those  of  his  fair  neighbour ;  had 
arranged  how  the  fences  were  to  intersect,  the 
fields  to  be  enlarged,  and  the  whole  to  be  managed 
by  the  thrifty  economy  of  his  partner.  All  these 
plans  were  now  about  to  be  realised ;  and  he  wisely 


128  THE  FRENCH  VILLAGE. 

concluded  that  he  could  smoke  his  pipe,  and  talk 
to  Jeanette,  as  comfortably  here  as  elsewhere; 
and  as  ho  had  not  danced  for  many  years,  and 
Jeanette  was  growing  rather  too  corpulent  for 
that  exercise,  he  reasoned  that  even  the  depriva- 
tion of  the  fiddles  and  king  balls  could  be  borne. 
Jeanette  loved  comfort  too ;  but  having,  besides, 
a  sharp  eye  for  the  main  chance,  was  governed 
by  a  deeper  policy.  By  a  prudent  appropriation 
of  JUT  own  savings,  and  those  of  her  husband,  she 
purchased  from  the  emigrants  many  of  the  fairest 
acres  in  the  village,  and  thus  secured  an  ample 
property. 

A  large  log  house  has  since  been  erected  in  tin 
space  between  the  cottages  of  Baptiste  and  Jean- 
ette, which  form  wings  to  the  main  building,  and 
are  carefully  preserved  in  remembrance  of  old 
times.  All  the  neighbouring  houses  have  fallen  • 
down,  and  a  few  heaps  of  rubbish,  surrounded  by 
corn  fields,  show  where  they  stood.  All  is  changed, 
except  the  two  proprietors,  who  live  here  in  ease 
and  plenty,  exhibiting,  in  their  old  age,  the  same 
amiable  character,  which,  in  early  life,  won  for 
them  the  respect  and  love  of  their  neighbours  and 
of  each  other. 


129 


THE   SPY. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


Although  the  title  which  we  have  chosen  for 
this  volume,  would  seem  to  confine  us,  in  the 
selection  of  our  scenes,  to  an  imaginary  line 
which  forms  the  boundary  of  our  settled  popula- 
tion, yet,  in  fact,  the  limit  which  it  imposes  refers 
rather  to  -time  than  place,  for  ours  is  a  moving 
frontier,  which  is  continually  upon  the  advance. 
What  is  now  the  border,  has  but  recently  as- 
sumed that  character,  and  if  we  trace  back  the 
history  of  our  country  to  its  earliest  period,  in 
search  of  the  stirring  scenes  attendant  upon  a 
state  of  war,  we  shall  find  ourselves  rapidly  tra- 
velling towards  the  shores  of  the  Atlantic.  There 
has  been  a  point  in  the  history  of  every  state  in 
the  Union,  when  a  portion  of  its  territory  was  a 
wilderness,  and  a  part,  at  least  of  its  settlements, 
subjected  to  invasion  ;  and  there  have  been  more 


130  THE  SPY. 

| 

recent  and  longer  periods,  when  every  state  con- 
tained extensive  districts  which  were  thinly  set- 
tled, and  but  little  frequented  by  strangers,  and 
where  all  the  vicissitudes  and  adventures  of  the 
border  life  were  experienced  by  the  inhabitants. 
It  is  this  circumstance  which  renders  the  whole  of 
our  broad  empire  so  rich  in  materials  for  the 
novelist — for  every  part  of  it  has  been  the  seat  of 
war,  or  the  scene  of  border  conflict,  and  there  is 
scarcely  a  spot  where  some  tradition  of  a  romantic 
character  may  not  be  gathered.  I  hope,  there- 
fore,  that  the  following  legend  will  not  be  con- 
sidered as  inappropriately  grouped  with  the  others 
which  form  this  little  collection. 

In  a  secluded  neighbourhood,  on  the  banks  of 
the  romantic  Susquehanna,  stands  a  large  old- 
fashioned  brick  house,  which,  at  a  period  pr«j\  i»n* 
to  the  revolutionary  is  a  very  imp 

man-inn,  but  lias  now  a  mean  and  dilapidated 
rancc.  It  was,  when  erected,  the  only  re- 
spectable  building  in  the  whole  region  of  count r\ 
in  which  it  stands,  and  was  thought  to  be  a  noble 
specimen  of  architectural  skill  and  magnificence, 
h  was  surrounded  by  a  very  .large  plantation,  ap- 
propriated chiefly  to  the  culture  of  tobacco  and 
corn,  and  studded  in  every  direction  with  little 
< -al>ins  inhabited  by  negroes.  A  fine  .garden,  an 
-ive  orchard,  and  a  meadow,  in  which  a 
number  of  high-bred  horses  sported  their  graceful 


THE  SPY.  131 

limbs,  showed  the  proprietor  to  be  a  gentleman  of 
easy  fortune. 

He  was  indeed,  as  I  learned  -from  tradition,  a 
very  wealthy  and  excellent  old  gentleman.  His 
portrait,  which  I  used  to  gaze  at  with  admiration 
in  my  childhood,  still  hangs  in  the  ancient  hall, 
and  sufficiently  denotes  the  character  of  the  ori- 
ginal. It  is  that  of  an  elderly  robust  man,  with  a 
fine  high  forehead,  and  a  mild,  though  firm  ex- 
pression of  countenance.  One  would  pronounce 
him  to  have  been  an  unsophisticated  man,  who 
had  mingled  but  little  with  the  world,  but  whose 
natural  understanding  was  strong.  He  was  a 
grave,  taciturn  person,  of  even  temper,  and  of 
benevolent  and  hospitable  feelings.  His  eye  was 
remarkably  fine — a  large  blue  orb,  full  of  mildness 
and  love — but  with  a  quiet  self-command  about  it, 
and  a  dash  of  something  which  said  that  the  owner 
was  accustomed  to  be  obeyed.  He  was  dressed 
in  a  snuff-coloured  suit,  of  goodly  dimensions;  the 
coat  single-breasted,  and  without  a  collar,  and  the 
wrists  ornamented  with  hand-ruffles. 

The  portrait  of  the  good  lady,  which  hung  by 
that  of  her  lord,  exhibited  a  stately  and  very 
beautiful  woman,  dressed  in  all  the  formal  finery 
of  that  age.  Her  complexion  was  delicately  fair, 
her  mouth  exquisitely  sweet,  and  her  eye  proud — 
but  whether  that  pride  arose  from  the  conscious- 
ness of  her  own  beauty,  or  of  her  dominion  over 


1  32  THE  SPY. 

the  handsome  gentleman  whose  name  she  bore,  I 
cannot,  at  this  distance  of  time,  pretend  to  deter- 
mine. It  is  whispered,  however,  that  although 
Mr.  B. — for  this  designation  will  serve  our  pre- 
sent purpose — ruled  his  dependents  with  absolute 
authority,  and  influenced  the  affairs  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood, yet  Mrs.  B.  usually  carried  her  points. 
I  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  the  lady's  dress,  as 
I  am  unlearned  in  those  matters.  If  Mrs.  Hale, 
or  Mrs.  Child,  or  Mrs.  Sigourney,  or  Mrs.  Hentz, 
or  Miss  Leslie,  or  Miss  Sedgewick,  or  Miss  Gould, 
or  any  other  of  the  hundred  and  one  Mistresses  or 
Misses  of  our  country,  who 

M  Grace  this  latter  age  with  noble  deeds" 

in  the  way  of  authorship,  had  the  handling  of  this 
delicate  subject,  it  might  be  treated  with  ability, 
and  the  lair  writer  would  luxuriate  among  the 
folds  and  ruffles  of  that  curious  specimen  of  the 
ancient  costume  ;  suffice  it,  however,  to  say  that 
the  venerable  matron  in  question  wore  the  hoop, 
the  stays,  the  close  sleeves,  and  the  high  head- 
dress ornamented  with  trinkets,  which  were  com- 
mon, among  well-born  dames,  in  those  aristocratic 
times.  There  was  altogether,  in  addition  to  her 
surpassing  beauty,  an  air  of  pride,  a  lady-like  ele- 
gance, and  a  matronly  dignity,  about  this  lady, 
which  showed  that  she  thought,  and  had  a  right 
to  think,  well  of  herself;  and  which  gave  her  a 


THE    SPY.  133 

well  founded  claim  to  the  obedience  of  her  hus- 
band, and  all  others  who  might  choose  to  submit 
to  her  sway. 

But  to  our  story.  It  was  during  the  most 
stormy  period  of  the  revolution,  and  Squire  B. — * 
for  he  was  a  magistrate — and  Mrs.  B.  were  both 
stanch  whigs.  Not  "  young  whigs,"  nor  modern 
whigs — but  the  good  old  republican  rebellious 
whigs  of  the  revolution.  They  had  given  two 
gallant  sons  to  their  country,  who  were  then  fight- 
ing under  the  banners  of  Washington ;  and  were 
training  up  the  remainder  of  a  large  progeny  in 
the  hatred  of  tyranny,  and  the  love  of  indepen- 
dence. The  neighbourhood  in  which  they  lived 
was  obscure,  arid  thinly  settled  ;  there  was  no  pub- 
lic house  of  any  description  within  many  miles ; 
and  genteel  strangers,  who  happened  to  pass  along 
towards  night-fall,  were  generally,  on  enquiring 
for  lodgings,  directed  to  the  house  of  Squire  B., 
where  they  were  always  sure  of  a  cordial  reception, 
and  a  gratuitous  and  most  hospitable  entertain- 
ment. So  far  from  considering  such  a  call  as 
an  intrusion,  this  worthy  couple  deemed  it  a  great 
compliment ;  and  would  have  thought  themselves 
slighted,  had  a  reputable  stranger  visited  the 
neighbourhood  without  making  their  house  his 
home.  And  a  most  agreeable  home  it  was  to  a 
weary  wayfarer.  There  was  kindness  without 
bustle,  and  profusion  without  any  affectation  of 
12 


134  THE   SPY. 

display.  The  self-invited  guest  was  treated  as  an 
honoured  friend,  and  an  invitation  to  remain  an- 
other and  another  day,  was  usually  accorded  to 
him.  Indeed,  when  one  of  these  chance  guests 
happened  to  be  more  agreeable  than  ordinary,  the 
hospitable  Mary  lander  never  allowed  him  to  depart 
in  less  than  a  week,  nor  then  without  a  present  of 
a  bridle,  a  saddle,  or  perhaps  a  horse. 

It  was,  as  we  remarked  before,  during  a  perilous 
time  of  the  revolution,  when  the  hearts  of  our  pa- 
triot ancestors  were  filled  with  doubt  and  anxiety, 
that  a  solitary  traveller  rode  up  one  evening  to  the 
door  of  Mr.  B.  Several  negro  boys  ran  to  meet 
him  ;  one  opened  the  gate,  another  took  his  horse 
by  the  bridle,  and  a  third  prepared  to  seize  upon 
his  saddlebags.  The  stranger  hesitated,  looked 
cautiously  around,  and  enquired  timidly  for  Mr.  B. 

"  Ole  massa  in  de  house,  readcn  he  book  ;"  an- 
swered one  of  the  young  Africans. 

"  Do  you  think  I  can  get  permission  to  spend 
the  night  here  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  massa,  for  sartin.  All  de  quality 
stops  here." 

The  stranger  still  paused,  and  then  alighted 
slowly,  and  paused  again,  as  if  conscious  of  the 
awkwardness  of  intruding  without  invitation  into 
the  house  of  one  to  whom  he  was  entirely  un- 
known. The  appearance  of  the  portly  owner  of 
the  mansion,  who  now  presented  himself  at  the 


THE    SPY.  135 

door,  seemed  to  increase  his  embarrasment,  and 
he  began,  rather  bashfully,  to  make  the  explana- 
tions which  appeared  to  be  necessary. 

"  I  have  ridden  far  to-day,"  said  he,  "  I  am 
tired,  and  my  horse  almost  broken  down — I  am 
told  there  is  no  tavern  in  the  neighbourhood — and 
was  directed  here — but  I  fear  I  intrude." 

"  Glad  to  see  you,"  interrupted  Mr.  B.  "  come, 
sir,  walk  in — the  boys  will  take  care  of  your 
horse — you  are  quite  welcome  ;  do  ye  hear,  boys, 
rub  down  that  nag,  and  feed  him  well — no  apolo- 
gies are  necessary,  sir — make  my  house  your 
home,  while  you  stay  in  the  country — come,  sir, 
walk  in" — and  so  the  old  gentleman  talked  on 
until  he  had  got  his  guest  fairly  housed,  stripped 
of  his  overcoat  and  spurs,  and  seated  by  the  fire, 
on  one  side  of  which  sat  the  lady  of  the  house,  en- 
throned in  suitable  state,  in  a  high-backed  arm 
chair,  while  her  consort  placed  himself  in  a 
cushioned  seat  in  the  other  corner.  A  group  of 
handsome  daughters  were  clustered  round  the 
worthy  dame,  like  the  bright  satellites  of  a 
brighter  planet — seated  on  low  stools,  that  they 
might  learn  to  sit  upright  without  leaning,  and 
sewing  away  industriously  under  the  supervision 
of  the  experienced  matron.  In  the  back  ground, 
immediately  behind  the  ladies  of  the  family,  sat  a 
number  of  neatly  dressed  negro  girls,  carding, 
knitting,  and  sewing — in  the  process  of  being 


136  THE    SPY. 

trained  up  .in  the  way  that  they  should  go,  in 
order  that,  when  old,  they  should  not  depart  from 
it.  These  were  intended  for  household  domestics, 
or  fur  personal  attendants  upon  the  young  ladiea, 
and  were  carefully  taught  all  the  thrifty  arts  of 
female  industry.  Not  the  least  remarkable  cir- 
cumstance which  was  calculated  to  attract  the  eye 
of  a  stranger,  was  the  scrupulous  neatness  of  the 
apartment,  the  stainless  purity  of  the  uncarpeted 
floor,  which  was  as  polished,  and  shining,  and  al- 
most as  slippery,  as  ice,  with  other  evidences 
which  attested  the  vigilant  administration  of  an 
admirable  system  of  internal  police. 

The  arrival  of  an  unexpected  guest  caused  no 
di-turbance  in  the  well  regulated  household  of 
Mrs.  B.,  whose  ample  board  was  always  spread 
with  such  a  profusion  of  eatables,  that  the  addition 
of  a  compam  «  f  gtMftdjimi  to  her  already  nume- 
rous family,  would  hardly  have  been  an  inconve- 
nience. But  there  were  ceitain  little  hospitalities 
requisite  for  the  honour  of  the  house,  and  to  teach 
the  traveller  that  he  was  \\<  k-ome  ;  the  good  lady, 
therefore,  ver\  formally  laid  aside  her  knitting 
and  retired,  while  a  servant  added  several  logs  to 
the  fire.  Mr.  B.  produced  a  pipe,  in  which  he 
sometimes  indulged,  and  having  filled  it  with 
tobacco,  presented  it  to  the  stranger,  who,  b< 'inir  a 
mner  of  the  poisonous  weed,  declined  smok- 
ing ;  and  the  bost,  for  want  of  something  to  say, 


THE    SPY.  137 

lighted  it  for  himself.  A  negro  girl  now  entered 
with  a  basket  of  apples,  fresh  from  the  orchard, 
for  it  was  October,  and  this  fine  fruit  was  in  its 
perfection ;  and  presently  the  lady  of  the  mansion 
made  her  appearance,  followed  by  a  servant  bear- 
ing upon  a  waiter  a  curiously  ornamented  silver 
bowl,  filled  with  toddy,  made  by  her  own  fair 
hands — for  no  other  less  dignified  personage  than 
herself  was  ever  permitted  to  discharge  this  most 
sacred  of  all  the  functions  of  hospitality.  Squire 
B.,  as  was  the  invariable  custom,  approached  the 
bowl,  and  having  stirred  the  delicious  beverage 
with  a  spoon,  tasted  it,  in  order  that  he  might 
have  an  opportunity  of  complimenting  his  good 
dame,  as  he  called  her,  and  of  remarking,  with  a 
wink,  that  it  "  was  made  strong  to  suit  the  ladies." 
Then  taking  the  bowl  in  both  hands,  he  presented 
it  first,  with  a  formal  bow,  to  his  lady-wife,  who 
touched  her  fair  lips  to  the  brim,  then  to  each  of 
his  daughters,  beginning  with  the  oldest,  who 
successively  "  kissed  the  bowl,"  as  Goldsmith 
hath  it,  and  lastly  to  the  guest,  who  did  ample 
honour  to  its  refreshing  contents.  Such  was  the 
ceremony  invariably  observed  by  this  worthy 
couple,  towards  their  most  cherished  friends,  and 
as  invariably  extended  to  the  stranger  who  sought 
a  shelter  at  their  fireside.  Such  were  the  primi- 
tive and  courteous  habits  of  our  venerable  fore- 
fathers and  foremothers,  in  those  days  when  there 
12* 


138  THE    SPY. 

no  temperance  societies,  and  when  a  cordial 
n  ( <  [.ti.iii  always  included  a  social  cup.  They  had 
no  newspapers,  nor  periodicals,  neither  albums?,  nor 
scrap-books,  nor  any  of  the  modern  devices  for  de- 
stroying the  monotony  of  an  idle  hour;  and  the 
bowl  must  have  been  found  an  able  auxiliary  in 

:iin«;  the  dullness  of  a  country  fireside. 
In  the  meanwhile,  the  female  part  of  the  com- 
pany \  avouring  to  read  something  of  the 
stranger's  character  in  his  countenance;  and  as 
they  were  too  well-bred  to  stare  him  in  the  face, 
adopted  the  feminine  expedient  of  stealing  a 
glance  occasionally,  when  his  attention  was  turned 
another  way.  In  this  hasty  perusal  they  found 
more  to  excite,  than  to  satisfy,  their  curiosity ;  for 
the  person  before  them  possessed  a  set  of  features, 
in  which  different  emotions  were  so  strangely 
blended,  as  to  baffle  the  penetration  of  such  inex- 

;iced   observers.     He   was   so  young   as   to 

i  it  doubtful  whether  he  had  more  than 
merely  reached  the  years  of  manhood.  He  was 
tall  and  raw-boned ;  his  large  ill-shaped  limbs 
were  loosely  hung  together,  and  his  manners  were 
awkward.  His  face  was  singularly  ugly,  being  a 
collection  of  angular  prominences,  in  which  the 
chin,  nose,  cheek-bones,  and  forehead,  se 
each  to  be  ambitious  of  obtruding  beyond  the 
other.  But  it  was  an  intelligent  face,  with  lines 
of  thought  and  observation  too  strongly  drawn 


THE    SPY.  139 

upon  it  to  be  mistaken.  There  was,  however, 
about  the  muscles  of  the  mouth,  and  the  corners  of 
the  eye,  a  lurking  expression  of  humour,  which 
showed  itself,  particularly  when  a  local  phrase,  or 
a  word  susceptible  of  a  different  meaning  from 
that  in  which  it  was  intended  to  be  used,  dropped 
in  his  hearing.  Under  an  assumed  gravity,  and 
an  affected  air  of  unconcern,  there  was  a  watchful- 
ness which  could  not  be  wholly  concealed,  though 
it  betrayed  itself  only  in  his  eye,  which  rolled  sus- 
piciously about,  like  that  of  a  cur,  who,  having, 
contrary  to  a  standing  rule  of  the  house,  intruded 
into  the  parlour,  gazes  in  every  face  to  learn  if  he 
is  welcome,  and  watches  every  movement  as  if 
under  a  sense  of  danger.  Every  attempt  to  draw 
him  into  conversation  upon  subjects  connected 
with  the  politics  or  news  of  the  day,  was  fruitless  ; 
he  seemed  to  be  entirely  ignorant,  or  stupidly 
careless,  in  relation  to  the  principles  and  the 
events  of  the  great  controversy  which  agitated  the 
colonies.  On  other  subjects,  of  less  dangerous 
import,  he  spoke  .well  and  freely,  uttering  his 
opinions  in  brief,  pointed,  and  sententious  remarks, 
sometimes  dropping  a  sly  joke,  but  always  relaps- 
ing immediately  into  his  gravity;  and  shortly  after  * 
a  plentiful  supper,  he  begged  permission  to  retire, 
which  was  cheerfully  accorded  by  those  whoi>egan 
to  be  weary  of  vain  efforts  to  entertain  one,  who 
seemed  determined  to  commune  only  with  himself. 


140  THE    SPY. 

The  next  morning  the  stranger's  stiff  and  jaded 
pronounced  to  be  unfit  to  travel,  and  he 
cheerfully  accepted  an  invitation  to  spend  the  re- 
mainder of  the  day  with  his  kind  entertainers; 
and  when,  on  the  following  day,  his  host  again 
pressed  him  to  remain,  he  again  acquiesced.  Dur- 
ing all  this  time  he  had  but  little  intercourse  with 
tin  family.  Mrs.  B.  was  provoked  at  his  tacitur- 
nity, the  young  ladies  were  out  of  patience  with 
his  want  of  gallantry,  and  the  worthy  squire  was 
puzzled  what  to  make  of  him.  The  mtfn  was 
quiet  and  inoffensive,  but  had  not  disclosed  either 
his  name,  his  business,  or  bis  destination.  He 
sallied  forth  on  each  morning,  and  spent  the  whole 
day  in  roaming  about  the  woods,  or  along  the  pic- 
turesque borders  of  the  Susquehanna  :  and  when 
the  negroes  happened  to  encounter  him,  he  was 
usually  perched  on  a  log,  or  lying  at  his  length  on 
the  brow  of  a  hill,  with  a  pencil  and  paper  in  his 
hand.  These  employments,  so  different  from  those 
of  their  young  masters,  struck  the  honest  blacks 
with  astonishment;  and  they  fuiled  not  to  report 
what  they  had  seen  in  the  kitchen,  from  which, 
the  tale,  with  suitable  exaggerations,  soon  found 
;iy  to  the  hall,  where  the  whole  family  agreed 
in  opinion  that  their  guest  was  a  most  incompre- 
hensible and  mysterious  person. 

When,  therefore,  on  the  third  morning,  he  an- 
nounced his  intention  to  depart,  no  polite  obstacle 


THE    SPY.  141 

was  thrown  in  his  way;  the  worthy  squire  con- 
tenting himself  with  thanking  his  guest  for  the 
honour  of  his  visit,  and  urging  him  to  call  again 
whenever  he  should  revisit  the  country.  He  took 
leave  with  his  characteristic  awkwardness,  and 
was  no  sooner  out  of  hearing  than  the  whole 
family  united  in  pronouncing  him  a  disagreeable, 
unsocial,  ill-dressed,  incomprehensible,  ugly,  ill- 
mannered  person,  who  had  no  pretensions  to  the 
character  of  a  gentleman.  An  hour  was  spent  in 
this  discussion,  when  a  servant  girl  came  grinning 
into  the  hall  with  a  pair  of  shabby,  black-looking 
saddlebags  in  her  hand,  which  the  stranger  had 
left  in  his  chamber.  Mrs.  B.  took  them  in  her 
hands,  wiped  her  spectacles,  and  examined  them 
carefully,  while  her  husband  proposed  to  send  a 
boy  on  horseback  to  .restore  the  property  to  its 
owner.  But  Mrs.  B.  continued  to  gaze  uneasily 
at  the  saddlebags,  turning  them  over,  and  pressing 
them,  to  ascertain  the  character  of  the  contents. 

"  Mr.  B.,"  said  she,  at  length,  "  as  sure  as  you 
live,  there  are  papers  in  these  saddlebags." 

"  Well,  what  then  ?"  said  the  squire  composedly. 

"  You  are  a  magistrate,  and  this  man  is  a  suspi- 
cious character." 

"  What  have  I  to  do  with  his  character,  my 
dear?" 

"  You  are  a  justice  of  the  peace,  a  whig,  and  a 
friend  to  your  country — this  man  is  perhaps  a  spy, 


14*2  TUT:  SPY. 

or  a  bearer  of  despatches,  and  it  is  your  duty  to 
open  these  saddlebags.1' 

The  squire  seemed  startled,  but  shook  his  head. 

"Well,  my  dear,"  pursued  the  lady,  u\<>u 
always  think  you  know  best — but  how  can  you 
tell  that  there  is  not  another  Arnold  plot  among 
these  papers?  You  know,  Mr.  B.,  that  you  hold 
a  responsible  office." 

"  I  know,  too,  that  I  am  a  gentleman.7' 

"  We  all  know  that,  my  dear." 

"  And  did  you  ever  know  a  gentleman  to  rob 
tin-  l»nggage  of  his  guest?" 

The  lady  looked  disconcerted,  for  the  last  was  a 
home  argument ;  her  pride  was  even  greater  than 
that  of  her  husband,  and  her  regard  for  the  rites 
of  hospitality  equal  to  his. 

But  what  could  a  man  be  doing  with  papers  in 
his  saddlebags,  unless  he  was.  a  spy,  or  some  in- 
cendiary agent  of  the  royal  cause?  The  fellow 
had  a  hang-dog  look,  the  saddlebags  were  suspi- 
cious in  their  appearance,  and  the  papers  had  a 
dishonest  rustle.  There  was  treason  in  all  his 
actions,  and  tyranny  in  every  tone  of  his  voice. 
Even  the  negroes  had  noticed  that  he  was  a  bad 
horseman,  which  was  a  sure  sign  of  an  English- 
man,— and  that  he  was  mounted  on  a  wretched 
nag,  which  was  evidence  enough  that  the  animal 
was  not  his  own,  or  else  that  he  was  not  a  gentle- 
man. 


THE   SPY.  143 

The  lady  turned  these  matters  in  her  mind,  as 
she  tossed  the  saddlebags  about  in  her  hands. 

"  You  may  depend  upon  it,  my  dear,"  said  she, 
"  that  this  is  a  more  serious  matter  than  you  have 
any  idea  of." 

"  Yery  likely,"  replied  the  worthy  man. 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Let  one  of  the  boys  gallop  after  the  gentleman 
with  his  saddlebags,"  replied  the  husband,  com- 
posedly. 

"  I  am  surprised  at  you,  Mr.  B.  You  know 
not  what  treason  may  be  in  them." 

"  If  the  devil  was  in  them,  or  Arnold  himself," 
replied  the  squire,  with  more  than  usual  vehe- 
mence, "  he  might  stay  there  for  me.  The  gen- 
tleman asked  the  hospitality  of  my  roof,  he  came 
as  a  friend,  and  it  shall  not  be  said  that  I  treated 
him  as  an  enemy." 

"  Then,  Mr.  B.,  if  you  have  no  objection,  I  will 
open  them  myself." 

"  None  in  the  world,  my  dear,  if  you  will  take 
the  shame  upon  yourself."  . 

The  worthy  lady  dropped  the  penknife  with 
which  she  was  preparing  to  rip  open  the  seams  of 
the  unlucky  saddlebags,  and  asked,  "  Do  you 
really  think  it  would  be  wrong  ?" 

"  Decidedly  so,"  replied  the  husband. 

At  this  juncture,  the  negro  girl,  who  had  been 
prying  about  the  leathern  receptacle,  discovered 


144  THE    SPY. 

that  the  padlock  was  unfastened,  and  pointed  out 
the  fact  to  her  mistress,  who  exclaimed, 

"  Nay,  then,  1  will  see  the  inside  !     And  as  no 
lock  is  to  be  broken,  nor  any  breach  comu 
we  may  serve  our  country,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
save  the  honour  of  our  h< 

In  a  moment,  the  contents  of  the  travelling  con- 
venience were  spread  on  thr  !l«.<.r.  From  one  end 
was  produced  a  scanty  wardrobe,  consist  ing  of  but 
few  articles ;  from  the  other,  several  handfuls  of 
manuscript.  Tin  eyes  of  the  worthy  lady  glis- 
tened as  the  suspicious  papers  came  to-  light,  and 
her  handsome  cheek,  on  which  the  pencil  of  time 
had  not  yet  drawn  a  wrinkle,  was  Hushed  with 
patriotism  and  curiosity. 

"  Now  you  see,  Mr.  B.,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a 
kind  of  wife-ish  exultation,  "you  see  it  is  well  to 
listen  to  advice  sometimes.     Here's  a  prett 
covery,  truly !" 

She  now  proceeded  to  open  one  of  the  manu- 
scripts, which  was  folded  and  stitched  into  the 
form  of  a  small  book,  and  read  aloud,  "one 
hundred  and  nineteenth  psalm," — "  de"ar  me, 
what's  all  this  ?"  "  The  beautiful  and  pathetic 
passage  which  I  have  selected,  my  Christian 
friend  sy  for  your  edif  cation" — "  Why  it's  a  ser- 
mon!" 

"  The  devil  can  quote  scripture,  you  know,  my 
dear,"  said  the  squire,  sarcastically, — "  perhaps, 


THE    SPY.  145 

as  your  hand  is  in,  you  had  better  examine  a  little 
further." 

The  remainder  of  the  papers  seemed  to  be  of  a 
similar  character;  and  the  worthy  couple  were 
fully  satisfied  of  the  clerical  vocation  of  their  late 
visiter,  when  the  lady  inquisitor  picked  up  a  loose 
sheet  containing  a  copy  of  verses. 

"  A  hymn,  no  doubt,"  quoth  the  lady,  "  which 
the  worthy  man  has  composed  in  his  solitary  ram- 
bles." 

"  Read  it  for  our  edification,"  returned  the 
squire. 

"  Do,  mamma !"  cried  all  the  girls  at  once. 

So  the  old  lady  began  : 

"  Hail,  beauteous  shade !  secure  from  eye  profane, 
Where  chaste  Diana,  with  her  vestal  train" — 

Here  the  door  opened,  and,  to  the  utter  confu- 
sion of  the  whole  company,  the  stranger  stood 
before  them.  It  was  a  scene  for  a  painter.  There 
sat  the  lady  of  the  mansion,  on  a  low  chair,  with 
the  unlucky  saddlebags  at  her  feet,  arid  the  con- 
tents thereof  piled  up  in  her  lap.  Three  beautiful 
girls  leaned  on  the  back  of  her  chair,  looking 
eagerly  over  her  shoulder.  The  head  of  the 
family,  who  sat  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fire, 
had  taken  the  pipe  from  his  mouth,  dropped  his 
elbows  upon  his  knees,  and  was  gazing  arid  listen- 
ing with  as  much  interest  as  any  of  the  circle  ; 
13 


146  THE    SPY. 

while  a  half  dozen  young  blacks,  with  eyes  and 
mouth  open,  surveyed  the  scene  with  surprise.  In 
the  open  door  stood  the  stranger,  quite  as  much 
embarrassed  as  any  of  the  party,  who,  on  discover- 
ing him,  gazed  at  each  other  in  mute  dismay. 
The  dismal  looks  of  the  host  and  hostess,  when 
thus  caught  in  the  fact,  were  really  pitiable. 
They  were  a  virtuous,  honourable  couple ;  above 
fear,  but  keenly  sensitive  of  shame.  The  lady 
was  of  gentle  blood  and  nurture,  and  was  proud  of 
herself,  her  husband,  and  her  family.  The  gen- 
tleman, though  he  despised,  and  never  practised 
the  little  affectations  and  stratagems  of  pride, 
valued  himself  on  his  gentility,  and  on  never 
doing  any  act  beneath  the  dignity  of  a  gentleman. 
This  truly  respectable  pair  had  travelled  through 
life  together,  and  neither  of  them  had  ever  before 
had  cause  to  blush  for  the  act  of  the  other ;  and 
now,  when  they  stood  detected  in  the  disgraceful 
fact  of  opening  the  private  papers  of  a  guest,  they 
were  covered  with  confusion.  Squire  B.  was  the 
first  to  recover  his  composure ;  nor  did  he,  like 
our  great  progenitor,  attempt  to  excuse  his  own 
fault  by  saying  "  it  was  the  woman."  On  the 
contrary,  being  a  plain  spoken  man,  and  a  lover  of 
truth,  he  at  once  disclosed  the  whole  of  the  reasons 
which  led  to  this  ludicrous  procedure,  only  plac- 
ing himself  in  the  position  which  had1,  in  fact,  been 
occupied  by  his  wife.  He  alluded  to  the  perilous 


THE    SPY.  147 

state  of  the  country,  to  the  fact  that  treason  had 
more  than  once  threatened  its  liberties,  to  his  own 
duty  as  a  magistrate,  and  to  the  suspicious  conduct 
of  the  stranger — "  Considering  all  these  things," 
continued  he,  "  our  guest  will  not  think  it  strange, 
that  we  have  pryed  a  little  more  curiously  into  his 
private  concerns,  than  would,  under  other  circum- 
stances, have  become  our  wonted  respect  for  the 
rites  of  hospitality. 

"  And  yet,"  resumed  the  old  man,  "  I  am  grieved 
particularly  that  a  clergyman  should  have  been 
treated  uncivilly  in  my  house" — for  -the  squire 
and  his  dame  were  pillars  •  of  the  church,  and 
revered  the  clergy. 

The  stranger,  happy  in  recovering  his  property, 
most  cheerfully  admitted  that  his  kind  entertainers 
had  acted  for  the  best. 

"  And  now,"  said  the  squire,  "  to  complete  our 
reconciliation,  I  insist  on  your  spending  a  week  or 
two  with  us.  On  Sunday  next  you  shall  preach 
in  our  church,  and  in  the  meanwhile  there  are 
several  couples  to  be  married,  who  have  been 
waiting  until  they  could  procure  the  services  of  a 
minister." 

This  invitation  the  stranger  civilly  but  peremp- 
torily declined,  and  taking  a  hasty  leave,  retreated 
to  his  horse. 

Mr.  B.  accompanied  him  across  the  little  lawn 
in  front  of  the  house,  and  the  stranger,  before  he 


148  THE   SPY. 

mounted,  addressed  him  thus : — "  We  are  now 
alone^  sir,  and  some  explanation  is  due  to  you.  I 
am  not,  as  you  at  first  supposed,  a  spy,  but  a  na- 
tive born  American,  as  true  to  my  country  as  any 
patriot  who  fights  her  battles.  Neither  am  I  a 
clergyman,  though  I  confess,  to  my  shame,  that  I 
have  assumed  that  character.  I  am  a  student, 
preparing  for  the  profession  of  law,  but  the  coun- 
try wants  men  in  her  armies ;  and  although  I  have 
removed  from  town  to  town,  and  from  one  neigh- 
bourhood to  another,  I  cannot  escape  the  importu- 
nity of  recruiting  officers,  or  the  ridicule  of  my 
friends,  fox  not  devoting  these  sturdy  limbs  of  mine 
to  the  common  cause." 

"  Really,  young  man,  I  cannot  see  why  you  wish 
to  evade  military  duty  in  such  times  as  these." 

"  The  gifts  of  Providence  are  various,"  said  the 
young  man ;  "  Washington  was  born  a  soldier, 
and  I  was  born — a  coward !" 

The  elder  gentleman  drew  back  as  if  he  had 
seen  a  rattlesnake  in  his  path. 

"  It  is  a  melancholy  truth,"  resumed  the  young 
man ;  "  I  have  had  a  liberal  education,  my  talents 
are  thought  to  be  respectable,  and  I  am  gifted 
with  a  fund  of  humour  which  enables  me  to  mimic 
whatever  I  see,  and  to  convulse  the  gravest  com- 
pany with  laughter.  Yet  I  am  not  happy  ;  for 
the  fear  of  bodily  harm  is  continually  before  my 
eyes.  I  have  an  instinctive  dread  of  death ;  the 


THE    SPY.  149 

report  of  a  cannon  causes  me  to  shudder ;  war  is 
my  abhorrence ;  I  covet  fame ;  but  the  idea  of 
having  a  knife  drawn  across  my  throat,  or  a  rusty 
bayonet  thrust  through  my  body,  curdles  every 
drop  of  blood  in  my  veins." 

"  This  is  an  uncommon  case." 

"  It  is  uncommon,  and  therefore  I  bear  it  with 
composure  ;  courage  is  so  ordinary  a  quality,  that 
it  is  no  disgrace  to  want  it.  Cowardice  is  an 
extraordinary  gift,  bestowed  on  susceptible  minds, 
— courage  is  a  quality  which  man  shares  with  the 
bull-dog  and  the  tiger.  I  was  born  a  timid  crea- 
ture, and  no  reasoning  can  cure  my  sensibility  of 
danger,  and  my  abhorrence  of  death.  I  shrink  at 
the  idea  of  pain,  and  suffer  anguish  in  the  contem- 
plation of  personal  exposure." 

"  But  why  assume  the  character  of  a  preacher?" 

"  Partly  because  I  am  willing  to  serve  my  coun- 
try, according  to  the  nature  of  my  gifts;  but 
chiefly,  to  be  exempt  from  military  duty,  and  safe 
from  danger.  My  garb  protects  me  from  my 
enemies,  as  well  as  from  my  friends — from  that 
side  which  would  make  me  a  hero,  as- well  as  from 
the  others  who  would  hang  me  up  like  a  dog.  To 
avoid  being  a  soldier,  I  have  become  a  saint.  I 
go  from  camp  to  camp,  and  preach  up  rebellion  to 
our  troops.  I  can  declaim  with  fervour  about 
liberty,  for  I  love  it ;  and  I  can  exhort  others  to 
fight  bravely,  for  none  can  talk  so  big  as  a  coward." 


150  .     THE    SPY. 

"  But  what  if  you  fall  in  with  the  enemy?" 
"  To  them  I  preach  peace  and  good  will  towards 
all  men — with  a  secret  prayer  that  they  will  prac- 
tise it  especially  towards  myself.  I  carry  a  few 
orthodox  sermons  with  me,  such  as  you  have  seen, 
that  suit  any  emergency.  Those  I  make  use  of 
when  my  auditors  belong  to  the  royal  party  ;  and, 
if  I  do  them  no  good,  I  am  sure  that  I  am  doing 
my  country  no  evil.  My  patriotic  efforts  are  all 
extemporaneous.  My  ambition  does  not  point  to 
martyrdom,  any  more  than  to  military  glory,  and 
I  carry  no  seditious  manuscripts.  The  recent 
course  of  literal  studies,  through  which  I  have 
passed,  has  imbued  my  mind  with  arguments  in 
favour  of  patriotism  and  military  glory.  I  take 
my  text  from  the  scripture,  my  sermon  from  the 
classics.  He  who  would  disseminate  the  gospel  of 
peace,  or  promote  the  happiness  of  man,  must  im- 
bibe wisdom  from  the  oracles  of  God ;  but  for  him 
whose  purpose  is  to  promote  bloodshed  and  per- 
petuate war,  the  elegant  productions  of  enlightened 
Greece,  and  cultivated  Rome,  afford  a  copious 
stream  of  reasoning  and  illustration." 

The  young  man  extended  his  hand  to  his  host, 
thanked  him  heartily  for  his  hospitable  treatment, 
mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  slowly  away — leaving 
the  whole  family  amused  and  puzzled  with  the 
events  of  this  singular  visit. 


151 


THE   CAPUCHIN. 


[There  is  a  tradition  preserved  among  the  French  of  a 
celebrated  missionary  of  their  nation,  who  was  one  of -the 
earliest  of  the  explorers  of  the  Mississippi  and  its  tributa- 
ries, and  who  died  at  some  spot  which  is  now  unknown. 
We  have  endeavoured  to  preserve  some  of  the  circum- 
stances, which  are  related  as  having  attended  his  death,  in 
the  following  lines.] 


There  is  a  wild  and  lonely  dell, 

Far  in  the  wooded  west, 
Where  never  summer's  sunbeam  fell 

To  break  its  long  lone  rest ; 

Where  never  blast  of  winter  swept, 

To  ruffle,  or  to  chill, 
The  calm  pellucid  lake,  that  slept 

O'erhung  with  rock  and  hill. 

A  woodland  scene  by  hills  .enclosed, 

By  rocky  barriers  curbed, 
Where  shade  and  silence  have  reposed 

For  ages  undisturbed, 


t 

152  THE   CAPUCHIN. 

Unless  when  some  dark  Indian  maid, 

Or  prophet  old  and  grey, 
Have  hied  them  to  the  solemn  shade 

To  weep  alone,  or  pray. 

For  holy  rite  and  gentle  love 

Are  still  so  near  akin, 
They  ever  choose  the  sweetest  grove 

To  pay  their  homage  in. 

One  morn  the  boatman's  bugle  note 
Was  heard  within  the  dell, 

And  o'er  the  blue  wave  seemed  to  float 
Like  some  unearthly  swell. 

The  boatman's  song,  the  plash  of  oar, 
The  gush  of  parting  wave, 

Are  faintly  heard  along  the  shore, 
And  echoed  from  each  cave. 

A  skiff  appears,  by  rowers  stout 
Urged  swiftly  o'er  the  tide; 

An  aged  man  sat  wrapt  in  thought, 
Who  seemed  the  helm  to  guide. 

He  was  a  holy  capuchin, 

Thin  locks  were  on  his  brow ; 

His  eye,  that  bright  and  bold  had  been, 
With  age  was  darkened  now. 

From  distant  lands,  beyond  the  sea, 

The  hoary  pilgrim  came 
To  combat  base  idolatry. 

And  spread  the  Holy  Name. 


THE    CAPUCHIN.  153 

From  tribe  to  tribe  the  good  man  went, 

The  sacred  cross  he  bore ; 
And  savage  men,  on  slaughter  bent, 

Would  listen  and  adore. 

But  worn  with  age,  his  mission  done, 

Earth  had  for  him  no  tie, 
He  had  no  further  wish,  save  one — 

To  hie  him  home  and  die. 

"  Good  father,  let  us  not  delay 

Within  this  gloomy  dell ; 
'Tis  here  that  savage  legends  say 

Their  sinless  spirits  dwell. 

"  In  every  cool  sequestered  cave 

Of  this  romantic  shore, 
The  spirits  of  the  fair  and  brave 

Unite,  to  part  no  more. 

'*  Invisible,  the  light  canoe 

They  paddle  o'er  the  lake, 
Or  track  the  deer  in  the  morning  dew, 

Among  the  tangled  brake. 

"  'Tis  said  their  forms,  by  moonlight  seen, 

Float  gently  on  the  air ; 
But  mortal  eye  has  seldom  been 

The  fearful  sight  could  bear. 

"  Then,  holy  father,  venture  not 

To  linger  in  the  dell ; 
It  is  a  pure  and  blessed  spot, 

Where  only  spirits  dwell. 


154  THE   CAPUCHIN. 

"The  hallowed  foot  of  prophet  seer, 

Or  pure  and  spotless  maid, 
May  only  dare  to  wander  here 

When  night  has  spread  her  shade !" 

"  Dispel,  my  son,  thy  groundless  fear, 

And  let  thy  heart  be  bold ; 
For  see,  upon  my.  breast  I  bear 

The  consecrated  gold. 

44  The  blessed  cross !  that  long  hath  been 

Companion  of  my  path — 
Preserved  me  in  the  tempest's  din, 

Or  stayed  the  heathen's  wrath — 

44 Shall  guard  us  still  from  threatened  harm, 

What  form  soe'er  it  take : 
The  hurricane,  the  savage  arm, 

Or  spirit  of  the  lake." 

"  But,  father,  shall  we  never  cease 

Through  savage  wilds  to  roam  ? 

My  heart  is  yearning  for  the  peace 
That  smiles  for  us  at  home. 

"We've  traced  the  river  of  the  west, 

From  sea  to  fountain  head, 
And  sailed  o'er  broad  Superior's  breast, 

By  wild  adventure  led. 

"  We've  slept  beneath  the  cypress'  shade, 
Where  noisome  reptiles  lay ; 

We've  chased  the  panther  to  his  bed, 
And  heard  the  grim  wolf  bay. 


THE    CAPUCHIN.  155 

"  And  now  for  sunny  France  we  sigh, 

For  quiet,  and  for  home  ; 
Then  bid  us  pass  the  valley  by 

Where  only  spirits  roam." 

"  Repine  not,  son !  old  age  is  slow, 

And  feeble  feet  are  mine ; 
This  moment  to  my  home  I  go, 

And  thou  shalt  go  to  thine. 

".But  ere  I  quit  this  vale  of  death, 

For  realms  more  bright  and  fair, 
On  yon  green  shore  my  feeble  breath 

Shall  rise  to  Heaven  in  prayer. 

"  Then  high  on  yonder  headland's  brow 

The  holy  altar  raise ; 
Uprear  the  cross  and  let  us  bow, 

With  humble  heart,  in  praise." 

Thus  said,  the  cross  was  soon  uprear'd 

On  that  lone  heathen  shore, 
Where  never  Christian  voice  was  heard 

In  prayer  to  God  before. 

The  old  man  knelt — his  head  was  bare, 

His  arms  crossed  on  his  breast ; 
He  prayed,  but  none  could  hear  the  prayer 

His  withered  lips  expressed. 

He  ceased — they  raised  the  holy  man, 

Then  gazed  in  silent  dread ; 
Chill  through  each  vein  the  life-blood  ran — 

The  pilgrim's  soul  was  fled ! 


156  THE  CAPUCHIN. 

In  silence  prayed  each  voyager, 
Their  beads  they  counted  o'er, 

Then  made  a  hasty  sepulchre 
Upon  that  fatal  shore. 

Beside  the  altar  where  he  knelt, 
And  where  the  Lord  released 

His  spirit  from  its  pilgrimage, 
They  laid  the  holy  priest 

In  fear,  in  haste,  a  brief  adieu 
The  wondering  boatmen  take, 

Then  rapidly  their  course  pursue 
Across  the  haunted  lake. 

In  after  years,  when  bolder  men 
The  vale  of  spirits  sought, 

O'er  many  a  wild  and  wooded  glen 
They  roamed,  but  found  it  not. 

We  only  know  that  such  a  priest 
There  was,  and  thus  he  fell; 

But  where  his  saintly  relics  rest, 
No  living  man  can  tell. 

The  red  man,  when  he  tells  the  tale, 
Speaks  of  the  wrath  that  fell 

On  him  that  dared  an  altar  raise, 
In  the  Indian's  spirit-dell. 


157 
THE   SILVER   MINE. 

A  TALE  OF  MISSOURI. 


[For  the  facts  detailed  in  this  story,  the  author  is  in- 
debted to  a  very  ingenious  friend,  now  deceased.  He  has 
done  little  else  to  it  than  to  correct  the  phraseology  so  as 
to  render  it  suitable  for  publication.] 


Some  twelve  or  thirteen  years  ago,  when  the 
good  land  on  the  northern  frontier  of  Missouri 
was  beginning  to  be  found  out,  and  the  village  of 
Palmyra  had  been  recently  located  on  the  extreme 
verge  of  the  settlements  of  the  white  men,  uncle 
Moses,  who  had  built  his  cabin  hard  by,  went  into 
that  promising  village  one  day,  in  hopes  of  finding 
a  letter  from  his  cousin  David,  then  at  Louisville, 
and  to  whom  he  had  written  to  come  to  Missouri. 
Three  hours'  pleasant  ride  brought  him  to  town. 

He  soon  found  Major  Obadiah ,  who  had 

been  lately  appointed  postmaster,  and  who  had 
such  an  aversion  to  confinement,  that  he  appro- 
priated his  hat  to  all  the  purposes  of  a  post-office 
— an  arrangement  by  which  he  complied  with  the 
14 


158  THE  SILVER  MINE. 

law,  requiring  him  to  take  special  care  of  all 
letters  and  papers  committed  to  his  keeping,  and 
the  instructions  directing  him  to  be  always  found 
in  his  office,  and,  at  the  same  time,  enjoyed  such 
locomotive  freedom,  as  permitted  him  to  go  hunt- 
ing or  fishing,  at  his  pleasure.  He  was  thus 
ready  at  all  times,  wherever  he  might  be,  to  an- 
swer any  call  on  his  department,  promptly. 

The  major,  seating  himself  on  the  grass,  emp- 
tied his  hat  of  its  contents,  and  requested  uncle 
Moses  to  assist  him  in  hunting  for  his  letter : 
"  whenever  you  come  to  any  that  looks  dirty  and 
greasy,  like  these,"  said  he,  "  just  throw  them  in 
that  pile ;  they  are  all  dead  letters,  and  I  intend 
to  send  them  off  to  head  quarters,  the  very  next 
time  the  post  rider  comes,  for  I  can't  afford  to  tote 
them  any  longer,  encumbering  up  the  office  for 
nothing."  tlncle  Moses  thought  that  they  were  at 
head  quarters  already,  but  made  no  remark,  and 
quietly  putting  on  his  spectacles,  gave  his  assist- 
ance as  required. 

After  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  careful  examina- 
tion, it  was  agreed  by  both,  that  there  was  no  f 
letter  in  the  office  for  uncle  Moses. 

"But  stop,"  said  the  postmaster,  as" uncle  Moses 
was  preparing  to  mount  his  horse,  "  you  are  a 
trading  character,  come  let  me  sell  you  a  lot  of 
goods  at  wholesale.  Willy  Wan,  the  owner,  has 
gone  to  St.  Louis  to  lay  in  a  fresh  supply,  and  has 


THE  SILVER  MINE.  159 

left  me  to  keep  store  for  him  'til  he  returns.  He 
had  almost  sold  out,  and  I  hate  to  be  cramped  up 
in  a  house  all  day,  so  I  have  packed  up  the  whole 
stock  in  these  two  bundles'^hauling  them  out  of 
his  coat  pockets. 

Uncle  Moses  looked  over  them  without  ever 
cracking  a  smile,  for  it  was  a  grave  business.  He 
wiped  his  spectacles,  to  examine  the  whole  assort- 
ment. 

"  Here,  examine  them — calicoes,  ribbons,  laces, 
&c.  all  as  good  as  new — no  mistake — I'll  take  ten 
dollars  in  coon  skins  for  the  whole  invoice,  which 
is  less  than  cost,  rather  than  tote  them  any  longer." 

Uncle  Moses  was,  in  truth,  a  trading  character. 
He  belonged  to  a  numerous  and  respectable  class 
in  our  country,  who  are,  by  courtesy,  called  farm- 
ers'; but  who,  in  fact,  spend  their  whole  lives  in 
buying  and  selling.  He  was  raised  in  North 
Carolina,  and  had  /egularly  emigrated  westwardly, 
once  in  every  three  or  four  years,  until  he  had 
passed  through  Tennessee,  Kentucky,  and  Illinois, 
to  the  frontier  of  Missouri.  Nothing  ever  made 
him  so  happy  as  an  offer  to  buy  his  farm.  The 
worthy  man  would  snap  his  fingers,  ask  a  little 
more  than  was  offered,  and  at  last  take  what  he 
could  get,  pack  up  his  moveables  at  an  hour's 
notice,  and  push  out  further  back.  He  was  a 
famous  hand  at  finding  good  land ;  and  was  sure 
to  get  a  mill-seat,  a  stone  quarry,  or  a  fine  spring, 


160  THE  SILVER  MINE. 

which  made  his  tract  the  best  in  the  country,  and 
himself  the  happiest  man  in  the  world.  He 
worked  hard  and  made  good  improvements ;  but 
no  sooner  was  his  cabin  built,  his  fences  made, 
and  his  family  comfortably  settled,  than  he  was 
sure  to  find  that  the  neighbours  were  getting  too 
thick  around  him,  the  outlet  for  his  cattle  was  cir- 
cumscribed, and  there  was  a  better  country  some- 
where  else.  He  was  not  a  discontented  man — far 
from  it.  There  never  was  a  better  tempered  old 
soul  than  uncle  Moses.  But  he  liked  money, 
loved  to  be  moving,  and,  above  all  things,  gloried 
in  "  a  good  trade."  He  would  buy  any  thing  that 
was  offered  cheap,  and  sell  any  thing  for  which  he 
could  get  the  value.  He  never  travelled  without 
exchanging  his  horse,  nor  visited  a  neighbour  with- 
out proposing  a  speculation. 

Of  course,  the  .Major's  offer  of  a  lot  of  store 
goods,  for  less  than  cost,  struck  him  favourably* 
and  he  offered  three  dozen  racoon  skins  for  the 
whole.  "  Take  them,"  said  the  Major — "  it  is 
too  little — but  if  Wan  does'nt  like  the  trade,  IT! 
pay  the  balance  myself." 

"  Now,"  said  the  postmaster,  "  let  us  go  down 
to  the  river,  where  Hunt,  and  the  balance  of  the 
boys,  are  fishing.  We  have  been  holding  an 
election  here  for  the  last  two  days,  and  as  nobody 
came  in  to  vote  to-day,  we  all  concluded  to  go 
fishing." 


THE  SILVER  MINE.  161 

"  But  what  election  is  it  ?" 

"  Why,  to  elect  delegates  to  form  our  state 
constitution." 

"  I  have  heard  of  it,  but  had  forgot  it.  I  am 
entitled  to  a  vote." 

"  Certainly  you  are.  Hunt  and  I  are  two  of 
the  judges.  He  has  taken  the  poll-books  along 
with  him — come  along,  we  will  take  your  vote  at 
the  river — just  as  good  as  if  it  was  done  in  town — 
I  hate  formalities,  and  this  three  days'  election — 
every  body  could  as  well  do  all  their  voting  in 
one." 

Down  they  went  to  the  river ;  the  judges  and 
clerks  were  called  together,  and  recorded  the  first 
vote  that  ever  uncle  Moses  gave  in  Missouri,  on 
the  bank  of  North  river,  a  little  below  where 
Massie's  mill  now  stands.  I  like  to  be  particular 
about  matters  of  importance. 

The  parties  were  soon  distributed  in  quietness 
along  the  shore,  angling  for  the  finny  tribe,  which 
sported,  unconscious  of  danger,  in  the  limpid  ele- 
ment. Every  tongue  was  silent,  and  all  eyes 
resting  on  the  lines,  when  Sam  Smoke  made  his 
appearance,  cracking  his  way  through  the  bushes. 
"  Mose  !  come  this  way,"  said  he.  Uncle  Moses, 
discovering  something  momentous  in  his  air,  met 
him  at  a  respectful  distance.  "Now,  Moses," 
said  the  odd  old  genius,  "  I  know,  very  well,  you 
14* 


162  THE  SILVER  MINE. 

have  some  notion  of  entering*  Wolf  .Harbour.  I 
have  located  that  place  myself  long  ago;  but  I 
don't  believe  you  know  it.  I  will  now  let  you  into 
a  secret  that  you  have  been  some  time  hunting  for, 
if  you-will  not  enter  the  land  about  Wolf  Harbour 
before  I  get  my  money  from  Kentucky.  The 
quarter  section,  including  the  big  spring,  is  all  I 
want — the  balance  is  not  worth  entering — and  if  I 
can  get  that,  I  shall  have  all  the  elbow  room  I 
want." 

"But  what  is  the  secret?"  said  uncle  Moses, 
anxiously. 

"  You  have  been  hunting  for  a  silver  mine — 
hav'n't  you  ?" 

"  I  have  ;  do  you  know  where  it  is  t" 

"  No,  I  do  not ;  but  I  have  left  an  Indian  in  a 
swing  that  I  have  just  completed  for  the  major's 
amusement.  He  will  swing  himself  until  my  re- 
turn. He  has  a  piece  of  the  ore,  and  will  show 
us  the  place  where  he  found  it,  for  a  gallon  of 
whiskey.  Now,  say  I  shall  have  Wolf  Harbour, 
and  you  may  have  the  silver  mine." 

"  Agreed,"  said  uncle  Moses,  "  and  for  fear 
somebody  else  should  take  a  fancy  to  it,  if  you 
will  go  home  with  me,  I  will  loan  you  the  money 
to  pay  for  it." 

"  No,  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,"  said  Sam, 

*  Buying  from  the  government 


THE  SILVER  MINE.  163 

"all   I   want,   is   the   chance,   after    my   money 
comes." 

Uncle. Moses  found  the  Indian,  as  was  expected, 
and  took  him  home  with  him,  where  he  found  his 
cousin  David,  just  arrived  from  Kentucky.  "  Ah  ! 
Davy,  my  boy,  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  I  have 
found,  or  rather  I  am  about  to  find,  the  silver 
mine  that  I  wrote  to  you  about.  See  here  !  this 
is  as  pure  silver  ore  as  ever  was  seen.  This 
yellow  fellow  knows  where  it  is,  and  is  to  show  it 
to  me  in  the  morning." 

"  That's  very  well,"  said  David,  "  but  do  you 
know  you  will  find  this  fellow  here  in  the  morn- 
ing?" 

"  No   doubt  of  it.     I   know  too  much  of  the  . 
Indian  not.  to  know  how  to  manage  him.     I  will 
give  him  a  taste  out  of  that  keg,  and  let  him  un- 
derstand that  there  is  more,  and  you  could  not 
whip  him  away." 

Early  the  next  morning,  our  miners  had  every 
thing  ready  for  the  expedition.  The  best-  horse 
was  packed  with  the  tools,  and  provisions  enough 
for  several  days.  The  Indian  guide  was  directed 
to  lead  the  way.  He  hesitated  for  a  moment,  as  if 
deliberating  upon  the  course,  and  then,  having 
fixed  it  in  his  mind,  set  off  on  a  bee  line  towards 
the  hidden  treasure.  Uncle  Moses  and  David  led 
the  pack-horse,  and  plodded  on  foot  at  a  half  trot  ; 
for  that  is  the  gait  of  an  Indian,  when  he  has  a 


164  THE  SILVER  MINE. 

journey  before  him.  After  about  two  hours'  rough 
travelling  through  the  woods  and  thickets,  the 
miners  were  saluted  with  an  "  Ah  !  ho !  ah !"  from 
the  Indian,  who  had  stopped  on  the  side  of  a  hill  a 
little  in  advance.  "  Plentee  bel-le  good  chomac," 
said  he,,  holding  up  a  piece  of  the  precious  ore, 
glistening  in  his  hand.  "  By  the  wars,  Davy," 
exclaimed  uncle  Moses,  as  he  walked  up  and  sur- 
veyed the  spot,  "  this. is  a  pretty  good  prospect — 
this  looks  well,  to  be  sure — a  right  smart  chance 
of  metal,  I  declare !" 

The  horse  was  soon  unpacked,  coats  off,  and 
every  thing  ready  for  deeper  research.  Davy 
took  the  pick  and  shovel,  and  commenced  remov- 
ing the  ground  which  seemed  to  cover  the  vein. 
Uncle  Moses  sauntered  about  to  examine  the  line 
trees,  and  discover  the  number  of  the  section ; 
and  the  guide,  having  fulfilled  his  part  of  the  bar- 
gain, was  left  in  full  possession  of  the  jug,  and  in 
a  few  minutes,  was  as  happy  as  if  he  had  millions 
in  store. 

Uncle  Moses  returned  in  a  short  time,  having 
traced  the  lines  of  the  tract,  and  found  David  as 
wet  with  sweat,  as  if  he  had  been  in  the  river. 
"Stop,  David,"  said  uncle  Moses,  "  you  will  kill 
yourself  if  you  go  on  at  this  rate — give  me  the 
shovel,  and  rest  awhile — you  have  blistered  your 
hands  already."  This  was  literally  true,  and  is 
usually  the  case  with  the  first  essay  in  mining ; 


THE  SILVER  MINE.  165 

the  fascination  is  so  great,  that  the  young  miner, 
continually  imagining  himself  almost  in  sight  of 
boundless  wealth,  delves  on  harder  and  hajrder, 
and  exhausts  his  strength,  while  his  hopes  yet  re- 
main fresh.  Uncle  Moses  proceeded  more  sys- 
tematically, and,  in  about  two  hours,  uncovered 
the  bright  vein.  What  a  glorious  sight  met  their 
eyes  !  How  were  their  hearts .  gladdened  by  the 
brilliant  success  of  their  enterprise  !  They  paused, 
and  silently  contemplated  the  shining  mass,  which 
lay  in  a  perpendicular  stratum,  several  inches  in 
thickness,  and  extended  along  the  whole  length  of 
the  opening.  Again  they  resumed  their  labours, 
traced  the  vein  into  the  side  of  the  hill,  and 
satisfied  themselves,  that,  according  to  uncle  Mo- 
ses' estimate — and  he  was  not  slow  at  a  calcula- 
tion— there  was,  at  least,  fifty  thousand  dollars' 
worth  of  pure  silver  then  within  their  grasp. 
"  That  is  enough  to  make  us  both  rich,"  said 
David. 

"  Why,  it  is  better  than  nothing,"  replied  the 
old  speculator,  gravely,  and  with  all  the  import- 
ance of  one  who  felt  the  inward  dignity  of  a  nabob ; 
"  yes,  it  is  better  than  making  corn,  or  trading  in 
store  goods — fifty  thousand  dollars  is  a  clever  little 
sum.  But  it  is  nothing  to  what  is  coming — no- 
thing to  the  balance  that  lies  in  the  -bowels  of  the 
earth." 

Having   rested  a  little  from  their  labour,  the 


166  THE    SILVER  MINE. 

dinner-bag  was  produced,  and  they  sat  down  to  a 
cold  luncheon,  which  Davy  pronounced  to  be  the' 
sweetest  morsel  he  ever  ate  in  his  life.  "  I  don't 
doubt  it,"  replied  uncle  Moses;  "this  is  one  of 
the  real  enjoyments  of  this  world.'  And  now, 
David,  since  I  have  made  your  fortune,  I  hope 
you  may  so  manage  it  as  never  to  lose  your  relish 
for  the  substantial,  by  indulging  too  much  in  the 
luxuries  of  life." 

"  Never  fear  that,"  said  David ;  "  I  have  been 
raised  to  industry — I  intend  to  go  to  the  legisla- 
ture. It  takes  less  head  than  any  thing 'else  that 
I  know  of,  and  I  never  heard  of  a  member  losing 
his  appetite  for  meat  or  liquor.  But  who  have  we 
here?" 

"If  it  aint  that  old  Hibbard  and  his  hungry 
gang  of  tall  boys,"  exclaimed  uncle  Moses ;  ".  he 
has  been  hunting  for  this  very  mine  for  several 
months.  They  have  been  watching  us — they  have 
a  canoe  at  the  river,  and  will  try  to  be  at  St.  Louis 
first  to  enter  the  land.  You  are  a  light  rider, 
Davy,  and  there  is  my  horse — I  gave  a  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  for  him — better  stuff  was  never 
wrapped  in  a  surcingle — fix  the  saddle,  mount  him, 
and  put  off." 

Davy  was  soon  ready.  Uncle  Moses  slipped  a 
roll  of  bank  notes  in  his  hand,  and  the  junior  part- 
ner in  the  silver  mine  wrapped  them  carefully  in 
a  handkerchief,  which  he  bound  round  his  body — 


THE    SILVER  MINE.  167 

conducting  the  whole  operation  with  an  apparent 
carelessness,  to  deceive  those  who  were  looking  on. 

"  There  is  the  money,"  whispered  uncle  Moses, 
"  and  two  hundred  dollars  over,  to  buy  horses  if 
needful.  Ride  slowly  off,  as  if  you  were  going 
home,  and  when  out  of  sight  take  a  dead  aim  for 
St.  Louis.  Don't  lose  any  time  looking  for  roads 
— a  road  is  of  no  account,  no  how,  when  a  man  is 
in  a  hurry.  l)on't  spare  horse  flesh.  We  can 
afford  to  use  up  a  few  nags  in  securing  a  silver 
mine.  If  any  body  asks  your  business,  you  know 
what  to  say — it's  nothing  to  nobody.  Buy  the 
land  before  you  sleep.  I'll  camp  here  till  you 
return,  and  keep  these  wolves  off." 

David  obeyed  orders,  and  was  soon  on  a  high 
prairie  of  parallel  ridges  extending  southward. 
He  involuntarily  stopped  and  gazed  with  wonder 
and  delight  on  the  first  specimen  which  his  optics 
had  ever  beheld,  on  so  large  a  scale,  «f  Nature's 
meadows.  He  was  naturally  of  a  sanguine  tem- 
perament and  lively  imagination,  and  enjoyed  the 
scene  with  a  higher  relish,  from  its  sudden  and 
unexpected  appearance.  "  It  beats  all,"  thought 
he  ;  "  I'd  give  a  thousand  dollars,  (an  hour  before 
he  would  have  said  a  dollar ,)  to  know  who  cleared 
up  all  this  land.  The  day  has  been,  when  thou- 
sands of  acres  of  tobacco  have  been  raised  on  these 
old  fields — but  who  raised  it  ?  When  I  get  the 
silver  mine  I'll  find  it  out.  Yes,  I'll  hire  a  half  a 


168  THE    SILVER  MINE. 

dozen  Yankee  schoolmasters  by  the  job,  and  pay 
them  in  pigs  of  cast  silver."  The  importance  of 
his  journey,  however,  soon  compelled  him  to  col- 
lect his  scattered  wits,  and  exert  them  in  deter- 
mining his  course.  His  geographical  knowledge 
of  this  country  was  very  limited,  as  he  had  passed 
up  the  Mississippi  in  a  keel  boat,  and  knew  nothing 
of  the  interior.  But  he  was  aware  that  his  course 
ought  to  be  nearly  south,  and  that,  as  the  country 
was  thinly  settled,  he  would  in  all  probability  have 
to  pass  most  of  the  distance  without  a  road  or  trace 
of  any  kind. 

He  followed  the  direction  of  one  of  the  ridges 
of  the  prairie,  and  travelled  rapidly,  until  his  pro- 
gress was  suddenly  arrested  by  a  deep  stream, 
about  a  hundred  yards  in  width,  margined  on  each 
side  with  a  heavy  growth  of  tall  timber.  "  This 
must  be  Salt  River,"  said  he.  It  was  too  deep  to 
ford,  and  the  only  alternative  was  to  swim — a  feat 
he  would  sooner  have  attempted  at  some  place 
where  assistance  might  be  had  in  case  of  accident. 
But  knowing  that  the  defeat  of  his  enterprise,  and 
certain  loss  of  his  expected  wealth,  awaited  him  if 
he  did  not  cross,  he  sc rewed  up  his  resolution,  and 
determined  to  pass  or  drown  in  the  attempt.  His 
money  was  placed  in  his  hat,  and  he  plunged  in ; 
his  horse  was  of  powerful  muscle,  and  bore  him 
safely  to  the  opposite  shore. 

The  sun  was  gilding  the  west  as  he  emerged 


THE  SILVER  MINE.  169 

into  another  beautiful  prairie,  carpeted  with  the 
matchless  verdure  of  the  season,  which  extended 
further  than  his  vision  could  reach.  The  evening 
was  calm  and  pleasant ;  a  soft  breeze  only  moving 
to  fan  the  sweet  perfume  of  the  various  flowers 
which  spotted  the  plain.  Not  a  cloud  was  to  be 
seen.  The  lark,  whistling  on  the  rosin-weed,  or 
a  solitary  hawk,  circling  through  the  air,  now 
poised  aloft,  and  now  darting,  with  the  swiftness  of 
an  arrow,  on  the  half  concealed  sparrow  below, 
were  the  only  moving  objects  on  which  to  rest  the 
eye  of  the  traveller.  The  scene  was  solitary  as 
it  was  grand,  and  naturally  led  our  weary  adven- 
turer into  a  contemplative  mood.  He  thought  of 
the  many  instances  he  had  known  of  the  misappli- 
cation of  the  gifts  of  fortune,  and  determined,  in 
his  own  mind,  as  he  was  now  heir,  apparently,  to 
a  princely  estate,  that  he  would  use  it  in  such 
a  manner  as  to  afford  the  most  solid  advantages  to 
himself  and  his  country.  He  resolved  to  found 
schools  for  the  education  of  all  classes,  to  make 
roads,  and  to  build  bridges — especially  one  over 
Salt  River.  He  had  a  mortal  antipathy  to  the 
aristocracy  of  wealth,  and  vowed  that  he  would 
level  the  rich  down  to  an  equality  with  the  poor  ; 
or,  if  that  should  be  impracticable,  he  would  level 
the  poor  up  to  the  standing  of  the  rich.  His  fond- 
ness for  the  fair  sex  induced  him  to  wish  to  confer 
15 


170  THE  SILVER  MINE. 

happiness  on  as  many  of  them  as  possible ;  but  as 
impracticable,  under  the  present  organiza- 
tion of  society,  to  confer  supreme  bliss  on  more 
than  one,  he  determined  to  make  one  happy 
woman,  at  least,  without  delay. 

At  length,  night  began  to  drop  her  curtain 
around  him,  and  to  stud  the  skies  with  her  twin- 
kling lamps.  The  dew  rested  on  the  tall  grass, 
and,  as  the  tops  of  the  latter  were  sometimes 
higher  than  his  horse's  back,  his  own  clothes  soon 
dripped  large  drops  of  water.  Still  he  pushed  on, 
until  the  weary  animal,  by  often  stopping  to  nip 
the  green  herbage,  admonished  him  that  food  and 
rest  are  necessary  to  brute  creatures,  however 
non-essential  they  may  be  to  the  proprietors  of 
silver  mines.  But  it  was  not  until  drowsiness 
had  so  overpowered  him  that  he  was  several 
times  on  the  point  of  losing  his  balance,  that  he 
determined  to  rest  for  the  night.  He  then  dis- 
mounted, tied  his  horse's  feet  together  with  the 
reins  of  the  bridle,  supped  on  some  cold  venison 
and  corn  bread,  that  unole  Moses  had  put  into  his 
saddlebags,  and  crawling  into  a  matted  hazel 
thicket,  nestled  among  the  leaves,  and  slept  soundly 
until  morning. 

\\ith  the  first  blush  of  the  dawn,  David  was 
again  on  his  way,  somewhat  refreshed.  But  the 
wolves  having  robbed  his  saddlebags  of  the  re- 
maining provisions,  he  had  nothing  wherewith 


THE  SILVER  MINE.  171 

to  break  his  fast.  He  jogged  on  at  a  pretty  rapid 
gait,  however,  fully  determined  to  compensate  his 
appetite  hereafter,  in  the  most  ample  manner,  for 
the  privation  it  was  now  suffering.  "  Poor  devils, 
that  have  neither  house  nor  land,"  said  he,  "  may 
travel  upon  empty  stomachs,  and  camp  out  in  the 
bushes  at  night,  but  that  will  not-  be  my  case.  1 
intend  to  have  old  bacon  all  the  year  round  ;  and 
let  them  eat  venison  who  can  get  nothing  bet- 
ter." 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  he  stopped 
at  the  first  cabin  he  had  seen,  and  enquired  of  a 
homespun  lady,  who  appeared  at  the  door,  if  he 
could  get  something  for  himself  and  horse  to  eat. 
After  asking  him  a  dozen  questions  about  "  where 
he  was  from — where  he  was  going — how  the 
election  had  gone — whether  he  thought  the  con- 
vention would  make  this  a  free  or  slave  state- 
wide he  staid  last  night — and  if  he  war'nt  mighty 
tired ?"— she  at  last  told  him  "to  light."  She 
soon  had  every  thing  ready,  and  invited  him  to 
"  set  up"  and  help  himself,  remarking  "  that  it 
was  not  very  good  fare,  no  how,  but  if  she  had 
known  of  his  coming,  she  would  have  had  some- 
thing better." 

From  this  place,  he  found  a  road  leading  to  St. 
Charles,  where  he  expected  to  cross  the  Missouri. 
Sleepy  and  weary,  every  rod  seemed  now  a  mile, 
and  he  had  not  gone  far  from  the  cabin,  when  he 


172  Tin:  SILVER  MINE. 


a  traveller,  that  he  met,  to  enquire  the 
distance  to  St.  Charles;  "  thirty  miles,"  was  the 
reply. 

After  proceeding  half  a  mile  further,  he  fell 
in  with  another,  who  told  him  it  was  "  fifteen 
miles"  —  a  boy,  to  whom  he  put  the  same  question, 
replied  that  "  k  was  a  «or,</  It  f  fie  bit"  —  and  a^ 
farmer,  a  little  further  on,  informed  him  that  the 
exact  distance  was  "  twenty-one  miles  from  the 
big  oak  at  the  foot  of  his  lane." 

It  was  dark,  when  he  concluded,  for  the  last 
time,  that  he  must  certainly  be  within  a  short 
distance  of  the  river  ;  and,  at  length,  meeting  a 
negro  on  the  brink  of  a  hill,  was  assured  that  it 
was  "not  no  distance  at  all."  He  was  soon  in  the 
village  nlvSt.  Charles,  and  had  no  difficulty  in  find- 
ing  the  ferryman,  who  refused,  positively,  to  carry 
him  across  the  river  that  night.  David  had  too 
much  at  stake  to  be  thus  delayed.  He  stormed  — 
threatened  to  cut  off  the  ears  of  the  boatman  — 
swore  he  would  kick  the  mud-walled  house  from 
over  the  head  of  the  unaccommodating  French- 
man —  and,  finally,  talked  about  regulating  the 
whole  town. 

"  Monsieur  Kentuck,"  said  the  ferryman,  "  vat 
make  you  so  dem  hangry  ?  are  you  in  von  great 
bi«:  1  mrry  !" 

u  I  am  on  business  of  importance  —  more  depends 
on  it  than  your  paltry  gumbo  town  is  worth  —  so, 


THE  SILVER  MINE.  173 

stir  yourself,  or  I'll  be  shot  if  I  don't  make  a 
fuss." 

"  Very  much  horry,  eh  ?"  replied  the  French- 
man—a dark,  swarthy  fellow,  with  straight,  black 
hair,  and  an  eye  which  began  to  flash  with  an 
amiable  expression,  resembling  that  of  an  enraged 
wild-cat.  "  'Spose  den  you  vait  for  your  horry 
over — mean  time,  you  cut  off  ma  hear  for  keep 
yoursef  warm !" 

Davy,  finding  he  was  on  the  wrong  scent,  changed 
his  tone,  said  he  had  no  wish  to  affront  any  gentle- 
man, and  enquired,  in  a  soothing  tone,  if  money 
could  procure  him  a  passage. 

"  Ah,  Monsieur,  now  you  talk  like  von  genti- 
man — 'spose  you  pay  me  five  dollar,  may  be  you 
cross  de  Missouri — 'spose  you  no  pay  me  dat,  you 
may  go  sleep  on  dis  side,  sacre !" 

Davy  accepted  the  terms :  the  ferry  boat,  con- 
sisting of  two  canoes  covered  with  a  platform,  was 
hauled  up,  the  horse  carefully  placed  in  the  middle, 
and  the  savage  river,  which  roared  and  bubbled 
around  them,  was  soon  passed.  The  ferryman 
pointed  out  the  road,  and  in  a  few  hours  our  im- 
patient Kentuckian  was  at  the  door  of  the  receiver 
of  public  monies  in  St.  Louis,  shouting  manfully, 
"Who  keeps  house?"  Colonel  S.,  the  receiver, 
from  an  upper  window,  told  him  that  he  could  not 
enter  the  land,  nor  the  land  office,  that  night ;  it 
15* 


174  THE  SILVER  MINE. 

was  positively  contrary  to  all  rule — and  Davy, 
much  chagrined,  was  obliged  to  sneak  off  to  a 
hotel.  In  the  morning  he  hied  by  times  to  the 
land  office,  and  found,  to  his  mortification,  that 
the  whole  section  was  covered  by  a  New  Madrid 
claim  !  Excited  now  to  desperation,  he  declared 
that  he  would  work  the  silver  mine,  any  how,  in 
spite  of  big  guns  and  little  men — he  did'nt  vally 
the  government  a  cent — not  he — it  was  no  account, 
no  how — then  he  jumped  up,  struck  his  heels  to- 
^••iluT,  and  said  he  was  a  horse,  a  steam-boat,  an 
earthquake — and  that  he  and  uncle  Mose,  with  a 
hundred  Kcntuckians,  could  take  Gibraltar  ! 

I  lam: mi:  his  hat  on  one  side  of  his  head,  he 
strutted  out  of  the  office,  endeavouring  to  control 
his  rage,  and  half  inclined  to  gratify  it,  by  whip- 
ping the  first  man  he  should  meet.  Finally,  how- 
ever, he  concluded  to  send  an  express  to  uncle 
Moses,  and  set  out  for  Kentucky  himself,  to  raise 
volunteers  enough  to  set  the  land  officers  at  defi- 
•qcp,  nullity  the  government,  and  work  the 
mine,  ri  et  armis.  Meeting  with  Mons.  Donja,  an 
old  acquaintance  who  was  a  silversmith,  he  exult - 
iniily  produced  a  specimen  of  the  precious  ore,  and 
asked  his  opinion  of  it. 

"  Vat  you  call  dis  ?"  said  the  dealer  in  bright 
metals. 

"  Pure  silver  ore— the  real  stuff." 


THE  SILVER  MINE.  175 

"You  mistake,  sair;  dat  is  no  silvare,  but  be 
ver  good  brimstone !" 

"  Brimstone,  the  devil !"  shouted  the  enraged 
adventurer. 

"  Ah,  oui,"  replied  the  mechanic,  with  a  shrug, 
"  very  good  brimstone  for  diable  ;  suppose  you  go 
in  my  shop,  you  shall  be  satisfy." 

Davy  went,  and  was  soon  convinced,  by  being 
almost  suffocated  with  the  fumes  of  sulphur. 

This  was  the  climax  of  disappointment ;  but 
David  was  blessed  with  a  sanguine  temperament, 
and,  although  easily  irritated,  had  the  faculty  of 
as  easily  abandoning  a  favourite  scheme,  in  favour 
of  some  new  project;  and,  after  giving  a  long 
whistle,  he  strolled  back  to  the  hotel  with  an  air 
of  so  much  unconcern,  that  no  one  would  have 
dreamed  that  any  sinister  event  had  befallen  him. 
"  It  all  comes  of  trusting  too  much  to  uncle  Mose," 
thought  he ;  "  the  old  man  used  to  be  as  true  on 
the  scent  of  money  as  an  old  'coon  dog  on  a  pest 
trail — but  he  is  barking  up  the  wrong  tree  this 
time." 

He  now  ordered  his  horse.  "  Sorry  to  inform 
you,"  replied  the  landlord,  "  very  sorry,  sir — but, 
your  horse  is  dead." 

«  Dead !" 

"  Dead  as  a  house  log." 

"  Misfortunes  never  come  single,"  said  David ; 


176  THE  SILVER  MINE. 

and  quietly  throwing  his  saddle  over  his  shoulder, 
he  walked  off,  singing,  from  Hudibras  or  some 
other  celebrated  poet, 

lit:  that's  rich  may  rjde  astraddle, 

But  be  that's  poor  must  tote  his  saddle.'' 


177 


THE  DARK  MAID  OF  ILLINOIS. 


The  French,  who  first  explored  the  wild  shores 
and  prolific  plains  that  margin  the  Mississippi 
river,  and  extend  along  its  tributary  streams,  be- 
lieved that  they  had  found  a  terrestrial  paradise. 
Never  before  was  such  a  desert  of  flowers  pre- 
sented to  the  astonished  eye  of  man — never  before 
was  there  exhibited  an  expanse  so  wide,  so  fertile, 
so  splendidly  adorned.  If  the  beauty  of  this  region 
delighted  them,  its  immensity  filled  them  with 
astonishment,  and  awakened  the  most  extravagant 
expectations.  Their  warm  and  sprightly  imagi- 
nations were  easily  excited  to  lively  admiration, 
by  scenes  so  grand,  so  lovely,  and  so  wild,  as  those 
presented  in  this  boundless  wilderness  of  woods 
and  flowers.  The  great  length  of  the  magnificent 
rivers  filled  them  with  amazement ;  while  the 
reputed  wealth,  and  fancied  productions  of  the 
country,  awakened  both  avarice  and  curiosity. 


178  THE  DARK  MAID 

We  can  scarcely  realise  the  sensations  with 
which  they  must  have  wandered  over  a  country 
so  different  from  any  they  had  ever  seen,  and- have 
contemplated  a  landscape  so  unexpectedly  aflijestic 
and  attractive.  ,  The  freshness  and  verdure  of  new 
lands,  unspoiled  and  unimpoverished  by  the  hand 
of  cultivation,  is  iu  itself  delightful.'  It  is  pleasing 
to  see  the  works  of  nature  in  their  original  cha- 
racter, as  they  came  from  the  creative  hand ;  and 
that  pleasure  was  here  greatly  enhanced  by  the 
infinite  variety,  and  magnificent  extent,  of  the 
romantic  scenery.  The  plains  seemed  as  bound- 
less as  they  were  beautiful,  and  the  splendid  groves, 
which  ilivcrsiiiod  the  surface  of  these  exquisitely 
graceful  lawns,  invested  them  with  a  peculi; 
of  rural  elegance. 

Delighted  with  this  extensive  and  fertile  region, 
they  roamed  far  and  wide  over  its  boundless  prai- 
ries, and  pushed  their  little  barks  into  every  navi- 
gable Stream.  Their  inpffensive  manners  procured 
them  a  favourable  reception;  their  cheerfulness 
and  suavity  conciliated  even  the  savage  warrior, 
whose  suspicious  nature  discovered  no  cause  of 
alarm  in  the  visits  of  these  gay  strangers.  Divided 
into  small  parties,  having  different  objects  in  view, 
they  pursued  their  several  designs  without  colli- 
sion and  with  little  concert.  One  sought  fame, 
another  searched  for  mines  of  gold-  as  opulent  as 
which  had  enriched  the  Spaniards  in  a  more 


OF  ILLINOIS.  179 

southern  part  of  the  same  continent.  One  aspired 
simply  to  the  honour  of  discovering  new  lands, 
another  came  to  collect  rare  and  nondescript  speci- 
mens of  natural  curiosities ;  one  travelled  to  see 
man  in  a  state  of  nature,  another  brought  the 
gospel  to  the  heathen;  while,  perhaps,  a  great 
number  roved  carelessly  among  these  interesting 
scenes,  indulging  an  idle  curiosity  or  a  mere  love 
of  adventure,  and  seeking  no  higher. gratification 
than  that  which  the  novelty  and  excitement  of  the 
present  moment  afforded. 

Whatever  might  be  their  respective  views,  they 
were  certainly,  in  one  respect,  the  most  successful 
of  adventurers.  They  traversed  these  wide  plains 
with  impunity.  They  penetrated  far  into  the  inte- 
rior of  the  trackless  wilderness.  Their  canoes 
were  seen  tracing  the  meanders  of  the  longest 
rivers ;  and  these  fearless  explorers  had  already 
found  their  way  into  the  heart  of  this  immense 
continent,  while  other  Europeans  obtained,  with 
difficulty,  a  footing  upon  the  sea  coast. 

Among  the  earliest  who  thus  came  was  Pierre 
Blondo,  who,  having  served  a  regular  apprentice- 
ship to  an  eminent  barber  at  Paris,  had  recently 
commenced  the  world  on  his  own  account,  in  the 
character  of  valet  to  an  excejlent  Dominican  priest, 
who  was  about  to  visit  America.  The  proverb, 
"  like  master  like  man,"  had  little  application  to 
this  pair — for  never  were  two  human  beings  more 


180  JIM:  DAKK  MAID 

unlike  than  they.  The  worthy  Dominican  «ft a 
gentlemanly  and  j)iiest-like  personage,  and  Pin-re 
a  very  nna— miiiiiir  plebeian.  The  master  was 
1<  am-  (1  and  benevolent,—  jrrave,  austere,  and  self- 
deming;  the  valet  \\a-  a  jolly,  rattling  madcap, 
who,  as  he  never  hesitated  to  grant  a  favour  or  a 
civility  to  any  human  being  who  asked  or  needed 
it,  thought  it  n-ht  to  be  equally  obliging  to  him- 
and  neither  mortified  his  own  flesh  nor* his 

.hour's  feelings.  The  priest  mourned  over 
the  depravity  of  the  human  race,  and  especially 
deprecated  the  frivolous  habits  of  his  countrymen; 
the  valet  not  only  believed  this  to  be  the  best  of 
all  pn»ih!<  >nt  piided  himself  particularly 

in  1>  niLr  a  native  of  a  country  \\hich  produces  the 

fiddlers,  cooks,  and  barbers,  on  the  habitable 
iil'.h'-.  In  short,  the  master  was  a  priest  and  the 
man  a  hair-.li-  v  both  loved  and  endea- 

voured to  improve  their  species ;  but  the  one  dealt 
with  the  inner,  the  other  with  the  outer  man ; — 
one  sought  to  enlighten  the  dark  abyss  of  the 
ignorant  heart,  while  the  other  sedulously  scraped 
the  superfluities  of  the  visage.  Father  Francis 
MM  a  mysterious,  silent,  ascetic  man;  Pierre  was 
as  mercurial  and  as  merry  a  lad  as  ever  flour 
a  pair  of  scissnrs. 

However  they  mi<rht  differ  in  other  respects, 
there  was  one  particular  in  which  Father  Fi 
and  his  man,  Pierre,  exactly  agreed;  naraeh ,  in 


OF  ILLINOIS.  181 

an  ardent  desire  to  explore  the  streams,  the  forests, 
and  the  prairies  of  Louisiana.  They  were  allured, 
it  is  true,  by  very  different  motives.  The  priest 
came  to  spread  the  gospel  among  the  heathen,  to 
arrest  their  vices,  and  to  explode  their  human 
sacrifices ;  the  valet  travelled  to  see  the  lion  with 
one  horn,  the  fountain  of  rejuvenescence,  the  white- 
breasted  swans,  and  the  dark-skinned  girls  of  Illi- 
nois. Pierre's  researches  into  American  history 
had  been  considerable,  and  his  opportunities  for 
acquiring  a  knowledge  of  the  new  world  singularly 
felicitous.  He  had-  snaved  gentlemen  who  had  been 
there — had  scraped  the  very  cheeks  which  were 
embrowned  by  the  sun  of  the  western  Indies,  and 
had  held,  with  secret  delight,  betwixt  his  thumb 
and  finger,  the  identical  nostrils  that  had  inhaled 
the 'delicious  odours  of  Florida,  the  land  of  flowers. 
He  had  listened  with  admiration  to  their  wonder- 
ful stories,  some  of  which  almost  staggered  his 
credulity.  He  did  not  doubt  the  existence  of  gold 
mines,  in  which  the  pure  metal  was  found  in  solid 
masses— the  only  objection  to  which  was,  that 
they  were  too  large  for  transportation, — nor  of 
that  wonderful  pool,  in  which,  if  an  old  man  bathed, 
he  lost  the  decrepitude  of  age,  and  regained  the 
bloom  of  childhood.  These  things  seemed  proper 
enough,  and  were  vouched  for  by  gentlemen  who 
could  not  be  mistaken ;  yet  it  'seemed  to  him  mar- 
vellous, that  the  birds  should  be  snowy  white,  and 
16 


182  THE  DARK  MAID 

the  ladies  black ;  that  the  men  should  be  beardless, 
and  the  lions  lia\e  horns;  and  that  gold-dust, 
grapes,  and  oranges,  should  grow  and  glitter  in 
a  wilderness,  where  there  were  none  but  wolves 
and  wild  men  to  gather  them. 

It  is  proper  to  state  here,  in  order  to  prevent 
any  misunderstanding  in  a  matter  of  so  much  im- 
portance, that,  although  Pierre  was  a  barl> 
was  by  no  means  an  insignificant  person.  He  was 
of  honest  parentage — the  son  of  a  very  reputable 
peasant,  who  lived  decently,  and  brought  up  his 
ullspring  in  habits  of  industry.  He  had  a  fine 
figure  and  a  very  prepossessing  countenance. 
His  eye  was  good,  his  teeth  white,  and  his  smile 
agreeable.  He  was,  in  short,  a  gentleman — on  a 
small  scale,  and  a  most  excellent  person — in  his 
way. 

During  the  passage,  Pierre  became  a  favourite 
with  his  fellow  voyagers.  He  played  the  flute, 
sang  merry  songs,  shaved  the  sailors  gratis,  and 
on  Sundays  brushed  up  the  captain  as  fine  as  a 
grenadier.  He  felt  so  happy  himself,  that  he 
could  not  be  easy  without  trying  to  make  every 
body  happy  around  him.  At  odd  times,  when  he 
was  unemployed,  he  amused  himself  in  fancying 
the  adventures  that  awaited  him,  the  fine  sights  he 
should  see,  and  the  heaps  upon  heaps  of  gold  and 
jewels  that  he  should  pick  up  in  the  now  world. 
He  thought  himself  a  second  Columbus,  and  had 


OF  ILLINOIS.  183 

no  doubt  that  high  honours  would  be  conferred 
upon  him  on  his  return — the  king  would  make 
him  a  count  or  a  marquis ;  and  M.  Corneille,  who 
was  then  in  the  meridian  of  his  fame,  would  write 
a  play,  arid  tell  his  exploits  in  poetry.  The  prime 
minister  would  probably  offer  him  his  daughter  in 
marriage* — and  a  cloud  passed  over  the  brow  of 
the  merry  Frenchman  as  he  reflected  that  it  would 
be  proper  to  make  the  lady  miserable,  by  refusing 
the  honour  of  the  alliance.  «  I  shall  certainly  be 
very  much  obliged  to  him,"  said  Pierre,  as  he  sat 
musing  on  the  forecastle,  gazing  at  a  long  stream 
of  moonlight  that  sparkled  on  the  undulating  waves; 
"  very  much  obliged  :  and  I  shall  never  be  wanting 
in  gratitude  to  a  nobleman  who  shall  do  me  so 
much  honour, — but  I  must  decline  it ;  for  there  is 
pretty  little  Annette,  that  I  have  promised  to  marry, 
and  who  shall  never  have  reason  to  weep  for  my 
inconstancy.  Annette  is  a  very  pretty  girl,  arid 
she  loves  me  dearly.  I  really  think  she  would 
break  her  heart  if  I  should  not  marry  her.  Poor 
girl !  she  thinks  there  is  no  body  in  the  world 
equal  to  Pierre — and  I  have  no  reason  to  dispute 
her  judgment.  She  is  neither  rich  nor  noble,  but 
what  of  that  ?  When  I  am  master  of  a  gold  mine, 
and  a  marquis  of  France,  I  can  elevate  her  to  my 
own  rank ;  and  I  will  hang  strings  of  pearl,  and 
ornaments  of  solid  gold,  about  her  pretty  peck, 
and  her  slender  waist,  in  such  profusion,  that  the 


184  THE  DARK  MAID 

meanness  of  her  birth  will  be  forgotten  in  the  glit- 
ter of  her  attire."  Thus  did  Pierre  enjoy  the 
luxury  of  hope,  and  revel  iu  anticipation  upon  the 
bright  prospects  that  beamed  upon  his  delighted 
fan<\.  The  vessel  flew  rapidly  over  the  waves; 
and,  after  a  prosperous  .voyage,  the  new  world 
spread  its  illimitable  shores,  its  gigantic  moun- 
tains, and  its  wooded  vales,  before  the  enraptured 
eyes  of  the  weary  voyagers. 

Pierre  was  in  the  new  world.  It  was  very 
much  unlike  the  old  one.  Yet  its  great  superiority 
did  not  Mrike  him  so  forcibly  as  he  had  expected. 
The  St.  Lawrence  was  a  noble  river ;  its  shores 
were  green,  and  the  trees  were  larger  than  any 
1  MVII  in  France;  but  the  sunny  clime,  and 
the  rich  vineyards  of  his  native  land  were  not 
there,  nor  was  there  the  least  sign  of  a  gold  mine, 
or  a  pearl  fishery.  Our  adventurer,  however,  was 
of  a  sanguine  temperament,  and  determined  to 
suspend  his  judgment,  and  hope  on  for  a  season. 

Shortly  after  their  arrival  at  Montreal,  an  expe- 
dition was  concerted  to  the  newly  discovered  re- 
gion of  the  Upper  Mississippi,  and  Father  Francis 
made  his  arrangements  to  accompany  the  party. 
Pierre,  who,  in  the  long  voyage  across  the  Atlan- 
tic, comparatively  agreeable  as  it  was,  had  become 
wearied  of  the  confinement  and  privations  incident 
to  this  mode  of  travelling,  looked  at  the  little  boats 
launched  on  the  St.  Lawrence,  for  the  tronsporta- 


OF  ILLINOIS.  185 

tion  of  the  party,  with  some  distrust,  and  evinced 
a  considerable  deal  of  reluctance  against  embark- 
ing in  a  new  adventure.  In  Montreal  he  had 
found  some  of  the  luxuries  which  he  enjoyed  at 
home,  and  had  been  deprived  of  on  shipboard. 
There  were  barbers  and  cooks,  to  shave  and  feed 
people ;  and,  new  as  the  city  was,  there  was  a 
monastery  and  a  ball  room,  in  the  first  of  which, 
he  could  be  seated  in  a  snug  confessional,  when 
he  went  to  confess  his  sins  to  the  priest,  and  in 
the  other  he  could  dance  without  knocking  his 
head  against  a  spar,  or  running  the  risk  of  jump- 
ing overboard.  Other  considerations,  however, 
weighed  against  his  indolence  and  love  of  pleasure. 
He  longed  to  discover  the  fountain  of  rejuvenes- 
cence, to  bathe  in  its  renovating  waters,  and 
secure  the  miraculous  gift  of  perpetual  youth. 
He  panted  for  the  dignity  and  advantage  of  being 
sole  proprietor  of  a  gold  mine,  and  returning  to 
merry  France  with  a  ship  load  of  treasure, — for 
the  honour  of  nobility,  the  pleasure  of  refusing  the 
prime  minister's  daughter,  and  the  pride  of  mak- 
ing Annette  a  peeress.  Incited  by  hopes  so  bril- 
liant, and  so  remarkably  reasonable,  the  spirit  of 
adventure  was  re-animated  in  his  bosom,  and  he 
embarked  with  newly  invigorated  alacrity. 

They  ascended,  with  much  toil,  the  rapid  cur- 
rent of  the  noble  Lawrence,  meandering  among,  its 
thousand   isles,  and  gazing  with   delight   on   its, 
16* 


186  THE  DARK  MAID 

rocky  and  luxuriant  shores.  They  coasted  the 
grand  and  beautiful  lakes  of  the  north,  enraptured 
with  the  freshness  and  variety  of  the  scenery;  and 
surveyed  with  amazement,  the  great  cataract, 
which  has  been  the  wonder  of  succeeding  genera- 
Every  night  they  encamped  upon  the 
banks,  and  the  forest  rang  with  the  cheerful 
sounds  of  merriment.  Sometimes  they  met  the 
Indians  who  gazed  upon  them  as  superior  beings, 
and  either  fled  in  terror,  or  endeavoured  to  con- 
ciliate them  by  kindness  and  hospitality.  It  was 
thus  that  the  Europeans  were  usually  received  by 
tii.  luitm'sof  this  continent,  before  little  jealousies, 
and  occasional  aggressions,  were  fomented,  by 
hasty  retaliation,  into  lasting  hatred.  Happy- 
would  it  have  been  for  our  country,  and  for  human 
nature,  had  the  civilised  adventurers  to  the  new 
world  conducted  themselves  in  such  a  manner  as 
to  have  deepened,  and  indelibly  engraved  upon  the 
savage  mind,  the  feelings  of  profound  respect 
which  their  first  appearance  excited. 

When  they  reached  the  southern  end  of  Lake 
Michigan,  the  waters  were  high,  and  they  floated 
over  the  inundated  lands,  pushing  their  boats 
among  the  trees  of  the  forest,  and  over  the  rank 
herbage  of  the  low  prairies  of  that  region,  until 
they  found  the  current,  which  had  set  towards  the 
north,  began  to  flow  off  in  the  opposite  direction, 
and  floated  them  into  a  small  stream,  running 


OF  ILLINOIS.  187 

towards  the  south.  Here  they  halted  for  some 
days  to  hunt,  and  repair  their  boats;  and  when 
they  reached  the  Illinois,  a  large,  but  placid  river, 
one  of  the  noblest  tributaries  of  the  Mississippi, 
the  flood  had  subsided,  arid  the  waters  were  flow- 
ing quietly  within  their  natural  channel,  through 
the  silent  forest. 

With  what  emotions  of  wonder  must  those  ad- 
venturous travellers  have  gazed  upon  these  wild 
scenes !  How  singular  must  have  been  their  sen- 
sations, when  they  reflected  on  their  distance 
from  the  civilised  world,  arid  thought  of  the  im- 
mensity of  that  immeasurable  waste  that  was 
spread  around  them.  They  had  never  imagined, 
far  less  witnessed,  a  desert  so  blooming  or  so 
extensive.  There  was  a  magnificence  of  beauty 
in  its  prolific  vegetation  and  gorgeous  verdure, 
and  a  grandeur  in  the  idea  of  the  boundless  extent 
of  this  splendid  wilderness,  that  must  have  excited 
the  imagination  to  speculations  of  intense  interest. 

Pierre  seemed  to  awaken  to  a  new  existence 
when  the  boats  entered  upon  this  beautiful  river; 
and  he  felt  a  thrill  of  pleasure  as  he  surveyed  the 
placid  stream  and  its  lovely  shores.  The  river, 
deep,  unobstructed,  and  clear  as  crystal,  flows 
with  a  current  so  gentle  as  to  be  almost  impercep- 
tible, while  the  overhanging  trees  protect  it  from 
the  winds,  keeping  it  as  still  and  inviolate  as  the 
fountain  that  sleeps  in  its  native  cave.  The 


188  THE  DABR  MAID 

stately  swan  sailed  upon  the  mirror  that  reflected 
her  downy  plumage,  and  the  gaudy  paroquet,  rich 
in  green  and  golden  hues,  sported  among  the  tall 
trees.  The  tangled  grape  vines  hung  in  heavy 
masses  from  the  boughs,  and  the  wild  fruit  trees 
dippi-d  their  limbs  in  the  water.  Here  and  there 
11  bluffs  jutted  in  upon  the  river,  impressing 
their  gracefully  curved  outlines  upon  the  clear 
blue  ground  of  the  sky,  and  throwing  their  long 
dark  shadows  upon  the  water ;  but  most  usually,  a 
rich  border  of  noble  forest  trees,  springing  from  a 
low  shore,  hung  in*  graceful  beauty  over  the 
stream.  Sometimes  they  saw  herds  pf  buffalo, 
win  ling  in  the  tide,  sometimes  the  lazy  bear,  wal- 
l<»\\iii£  in  the  mire,  and,  occasionally,  the  slender 
deer,  standing  in  the  timid  attitude  of  attention  ; 
while  every  secluded  inlet,  or  shaded  cove,  was 
filled  with  screaming  wild  fowl,  of  an  infinite 
variety  of  plumage. 

The  travellers  arrived,  at  length,  at  an  Indian 
village,  where  they  were  entertained  with  great 
hospitality.  The  chief,  surrounded  by  his  wise 
men,  and  his  warriors,  painted  in  gay  colours,  and 
decked  with  feathers,  symbolical  of  peace,  received 
them  with  public  demonstrations  of  respect ;  and  a 
great  company,  of  different  ages,  and  both  sexes, 
was  assembled  to  gaze  at  them,  and  to  do  them 
honour.  The  hump  of  the  buffalo,  the  head  of 
the  elk,  and  the  marrowy  tail  of  the  beaver,  were 


OF  ILLINOIS.  189 

dressed  /OP  them,  with  all  the  skill  of  aboriginal 
gourmandism ;  they  were  feasted,  besides,  upon 
bear's  oil,  jerked  venison,  hominy,  and  delicately 
roasted  puppies ;  and  the  juicy  steams  of  these 
delicious  viands,  unvitiated  by  the  villanous  artifi- 
cial mixtures  of  European  cookery,  were  plea- 
santly blended  with  the  balmy  odours  of  the 
forest.  Father  Francis,  among  other  monastic 
attainments,  had  acquired  a  very  competent 
knowledge  of  the  art  of  good  eating,  and  did 
ample  justice  to  the  generous  fare  which  spread 
the  board  of  his  savage  entertainers  ;  but  being  a 
reformer  of  morals,  he  determined  to  show  his 
gratitude  by  delivering  before  his  new  friends  a 
homily  against  intemperance  ;  resolving,  at  the 
same  time,  to  improve  so  favourable  an  opportu- 
nity of  suggesting  the  propriety  of  seasoning  such 
gross  meats  with  a  few  wholesome  condiments ; 
for,  to  his  taste,  the  devouring  of  flesh  without 
salt,  pepper,  or  sauce,  was  mere  cannibalism. 
Pierre  was  a  reformer,  too,  and  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  improve  the  gastronomic  science  of  his 
country,  whenever  he  should  become  a  marquis, 
by  adding  the  buffalo's  tongue  and  hump,  and  the 
elk's  head,  to  the  luxuries  of  a  Parisian  bill  of  fare. 
The  cooking  of  puppies  he  thought  an  unchristian 
and  dangerous  innovation,  which  might  lead  to  the 
destruction  of  some  of  the  most  harmless  animals 
in  creation,  while  the  addition  which  it  brought  to 


190  THE  DARK  MAID 

the  list  of  solid  edibles,  was  not  worthy  *>f  much 


Having  feasted  the  adventurers,  the  Indians 
presented  them  with  •  feathers,  belts,  moccasins, 
and  dressed  skins  ;  and  the  chief,  in  the  profusion 
of  his  generosity,  offered  to  Father  Francis  fifteen 
beautiful  young  girls,  but  the  good  man,  as  any 
prudent  man  would  have  done,  wisely  declined  the 
acceptance  of  a  present  that  might  prove  so  trou- 
blesomer  Pierre  thought  he  would  have  ordered 
things  differently  :  he  winked,  shrugged,  hinted, 
and  ut  last  ventured  to  beg  that  he  might  take  one 
of  them,  at  least,  to  Paris  with  him,  as  a  curiosity; 
but  the  inexorable  priest  advised  him  to  carry  a 
swan,  a  paroquet,  a  pet  buffalo,  or  a  rattlesnake, 
in  preference.  Finally,  when  that  worthy  and 
highly  honoured  ecclesiastic  had  been  feasted 
to  repletion,  and  loaded  to  weariness  with  defe- 
rential civilities,  a  soft  couch  of  buffalo  robes 
was  spread  for  him,  and  a  number  of  young  girls 
stood  round  him,  as  he  reposed,  fanning  him  with 
the  snowy  wings  of  the  swan,  and  driving  away 
the  musquitoes  with  bunches  of  gaudy  feathers. 
Pierre  thought  this  JL  very  grand  ceremony,  and 
quite  comfortable  withal  ;  and  determined,  that, 
whenever  he  should  become  proprietor  of  a  gold 
mine,  he  would  enjoy  the  luxury  of  slumber  with 
similar  attendance. 

It  would  be  a  question  worthy  the  attention  of 


OF  ILLINOIS.  191 

the  curious  in  matters  relating  to  the  philosophy 
of  the  human  mind,  whether  that  love  of  foreigners 
which  has  ever  distinguished  the  American  people, 
and  made  them  the  sport  of  every  idle  traveller 
who  has  chanced  to  linger  on  our  shores,  was  not 
derived  from  the  aborigines.  The  vanity  of  show- 
ing off  a  travelled  "  lion"  at  our  parties  is  cer- 
tainly not  original.  If  it  be  not  an  inherent  pas- 
sion in  the  human  breast,  it  has,  at  least,  prevailed 
throughout  many  ages.  The  desire  to  behold  the 
exotic  production  of  a  distant  clime — to  entertain 
one  who  has  roamed  through  latitudes  different 
from  our  own,  and  had  hair  breadth  'scapes,  has 
long  been  a  distinguishing  trait  in  the  domestic 
manners  of  our  countrymen ;  and  we  are  happy 
to  be  able  to  trace  the  propensity  back  to  a  period 
anterior  to  our  existence  as  a  nation.  For  we  do 
not  set  it  down  among  our  virtues.  Hospitality 
may  have  much  to  do  with  keeping  it  alive,  and  a 
generous  love  of  knowledge  may  afford  it  some 
nourishment.  But  we  fear  that,  after  all,  it  rests 
upon  a  solid  substratum  of  vanity,  and  is  cherished 
by  the  oozings  of  an  inquisitive  curiosity.  The  * 
Illini,  however,  fared  much  better  in  the  result  of 
their  attentions  to  distinguished  strangers,  than  we 
who  have  succeeded  and  imitated  them.  They 
received  the  French,  with  confiding  kindness,  into 
the  bosom  of  their  society,  and  fed  them  upon  the 
fat  of  their  land  ;  and  the  worthy  visiters  of  that 


192  THE  DARK  MAID 

primitive  people  recorded  their  hospitality  in  terms 
of  grateful  acknowledgment.  We  have  pursued 
a  similar  course  of  conduct  towards  other  Euro- 
peans, and  have  been  sadly  traduced  and  ridiculed 
for  our  pains. 

Father  Francis  took  an  early  occasion  to  say  a 
word  in  season  to  the  savages  on  the  great  business 
of  his  mission.  They  heard  him  with  grave  re- 
spect, and  promised  to  talte  the  matter  into  con- 
sideration ;  but,  as  their  intercourse  was  conducted 
entirely  by  signs,  it  is  not  likely  that  they  were 
greatly  edified.  He  showed  them  a  telescope,  a 
mariner's  compass,  and  a  watch,  and  endeavoured 
to  explain  their  several  properties ;  they  listened 
with  attention,  offered  food  to  the  watch,  which 
they  supposed  to  be  a  Jiving  animal,  looked  with 
fear  at  the  telescope,  and  picked  the  old  man's 
pocket,  while  he  was  lecturing  upon  natural  phi- 
losophy. Upon  the  whole,  the  savages  showed 
great  capabilities  for  the  pursuits  of  civilised  life. 
Pierre,  in  the  meanwhile,  remained  an  inactive 
spectator  of  these  proceedings.  The  Indians, 
with  their  usual  tact,  discovered  that  he  occupied 
a  subordinate  place  in  the  mission,  which  released 
them  from  the  necessity  of  paying  public  honours. 
But  his  fine  figure,  his  elastic  step,  and  his  open 
countenance,  won  their  regard,  and  obtained  for 
him  the  most  cordial  attention.  Though  he  was 
not,  as  they  supposed,  a  chief,  or  a  prophet,  they 


OF  ILLINOIS.  193 

imagined  that  he  was  a  young  brave  of  promise, 
and  perhaps  of  distinction,  in  his  tribe. 

The  next  morning,  the  young  warriors  dispersed 
themselves  in  the  neighbouring  groves,  to  paint 
their  bodies  and  decorate  their  heads.  This  is 
one  of  the  most  important  employments  of  an 
Indian's  life.  No  beau,  nor  dandy,  nor  exquisite, 
in  any  part  of  the  world,  expends  more  time  in  the 
laborious  duties  of  the  toilet,  than  is  consumed  by 
the  savage  in  decorating  his  person.  Pierre  went 
among  them,  bowing  and  smiling,  in  his  usual 
obliging  manner,  with  his  razors,  combs,  scissors, 
and  pomatums ;  and,  after  exhibiting  specimens  of 
his  skill  upon  himself,  prevailed  upon  some  of  his 
new  acquaintances  to  place  themselves  under  his 
hands.  He  was  not  only  a  complete  adept  in  his 
own  art,  but  a  man  of  genius,  who  could  adapt  its 
principles  to  the  circumstances  of  a  new  case ; 
and,  directed  by  the  slight  observations  he  had 
been  enabled  to  make,  painted  up  some  of  the 
savages,  after  their  own  fashion,  with  peculiar 
elegance,  and  to  their  entire  satisfaction.  They 
were  delighted  with  his  clever  and  obliging  talents. 
He  exhibited  his  lancet  and  tooth-drawers,  and 
explained  their  use  by  significant  gestures ;  and 
the  Indians,  supposing  them  to  be  delicate  instru- 
ments for  torturing  prisoners  of  war,  patted  him 
on  the  head  as  a  valuable  auxiliary.  He  produced 
a  pair  of  foils,  and,  while  he  convinced  them  that 
17 


194  THE  DARK  MAID 

he  was  a  great  warrior,  caused  an  infinite  deal  of 
merriment  by  the  contrast  of  his  own  d« •  \u-rity 
with  the  awkwardness  of  those  who  were  pre- 
vailed upon  to  oppose  him.  A  pocket  mirror,  and 
some  trinkets,  which  he  displayed,  won  their  ad- 
miration, and  they  soon  determined,  that,  although 
Father  Francis  might  be  highest  in  rank,  Pierre 
was  by  far  the  greatest  man,  and  most  valuable 
acquaintance.  Such  are  the  triumphs  of  genius  ! 
had  ventured  upon  a  delicate  experiment, 
in  which  ninety-nine  of  the  most  consummately 
skilled  artists  might  have  failed,  where  one  would 
have  been  successful. 

•  There  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men, 
Which,  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune ;" 

he  had  touched  a  fortunate  spring,  and  found  the 
talisman  which  commanded   a   brilliant   destiny. 
In    the   fulness  of  his   heart  he  opened  a  small 
•ge  of  looking-L  'uich  he  had  brought 

for  traffic,  and  distributed  them  gratuitously 
among  the  warriors,  presenting  the  largest  and 
most  elegant  to  the  chief,  who  was  so  much  de- 
.lighted,  that  he  instantly,  with  princely  liberality, 
offered  him  his  daughter  in  marriage.  Happy 
Pierre  !  he  was  that  clay  the  proudest  of  men,  and 
the  most  blissful  of  barbers. 

Pierre  had  serious  scruples  whether  he  should 
accept  this  generous  offer ;  not  that  he  considered 


OF  ILLINOIS.  195 

it  above  his  merits — on  the  contrary,  he  gave  the 
chief  jreat  credit  for  having  had  the  acuteness  to 
discover  his  genius,  and  the  magnanimity  to  know 
how  to  appreciate  it.  It  was  a  proposal  worthy 
of  both  the  parties  concerned.  But  it  touched  his 
honour,  while  it  flattered  his  pride.  He  had  not 
forgotten  his  obligations  to  Annette — the  merry 
dark-eyed  girl  who  had  given  him  the  first  offer- 
ing of  her  young  affections.  Poor  little  Annette, 
what  would  she  think  of  it,  if  he  should  marry 
another  lady.  He  was  sure  she  would  never 
stand  it.  The  blight  of  disappointment  would 
fall  upon  the  warm  heart  that  throbbed  so  sirt- 
cerely  for  him.  "  No,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  I 
will  be  true  to  Annette,  be  the  consequences  what 
they  may  ;  I  have  promised  her  my  hand,  and  a 
share  in  my  gold  mine ;  and  nothing  shall  ever 
induce  me  to  act  in  a  manner  unbecoming  a 
French  gentleman."  Having  formed  this  heroic 
resolution,  he  put  his  hat  on  one  side  of  his  head, 
and  strutted  through  the  village,  with  the  inde- 
pendent air  of  a  man  who  chooses  to  do  as  he 
pleases,  and  the  self-satisfied  countenance  of  one 
who  has  adopted  a  virtuous  determination. 

But  Pierre  knew  little  of  the  frailty  of  his  own 
heart.  Few  of  us  are  aware  of  the  backslidings 
of  which  we  may  be  guilty  when  there  is  a  lady 
in  the  case.  He  began  to  reflect,  that  the  partner 
so  liberally  tendered  to  his  acceptance,  was  the 


l!Mi  THE  DARK  MAID 

daughter  of  a  king,  and  that  such  an  allianc 

not  to  be  picked  up  every  day  in  the  woods  of  the 

.  orld.  lie  might  grow  gray  before  another 
sovereign  would'  condescend  to  invite  him  into  his 
family:  and,  reasoning  in  his  own  mind,  that  the 

>ed  marriage  would  make  him  a  prim 

i  >parent,  he  began  to  entertain  strong  doubts 
i  patriotism,  and  the  honour  of  the  French 
nation,  did  nut  require  him  to  sacrifice  his 

to  the  glory  and  advantage  of  giving  a  king 
t<>  ihe  lilim.  Napoleon  has  since  been  called 
upon  to  decide  a  similar  question ;  and,  Pierre, 
though  not  a  great  warrior,  loved  his  country  and 
him-elf  as  \\«  II  as  Napoleon.  He  reflected  fur- 
ther, that  the  possession  of  the  sovereign  power 
would  l>r  the  readiest  way  to  the  discovery  of  the 
fountain  of  rejuvenescence  ;  the  gold  mines  would 
all  be  his  own,  and  he  could  send  Annette  a  .-hip- 
load  of  the  precious  metal.  Moreover,  he  had 
already  discovered,  that  in  the  new  world  it  wa< 
the  custom  for  great  men  to  have  a  plurality  of 
wives — a  custom  that  seemed  to  him  to  be  founded 
in  good  sense — and  he  saw  no  reason  why  he 
should  not  comply  with  it,  and,  with  the  first 
cargo  of  gold  he  should  send  to  France,  de- 
an invitation  to  Annette* to  share  his  prosperity 
and  the  happiness  of  his  tawny  bride. 

When  our  inclinations  prompt  us  strongly  to  a 
particular  line  of  conduct,  it  is  easy  to  find  reasons 


OF  ILLINOIS.  197 

enough  to  turn  the  scale.  Indeed,  it  is  most  usual 
to  adopt  a  theory  first,  and  then  to  seek  out  argu- 
ments to  support  it.  Pierre  could  now  find  a  host 
of  reasons  urging  him  to  instant  wedlock  with  the 
Illinois  maiden.  And  not  the  least  were  the  ad- 
vantages which  would  accrue  to  Father  Francis, 
to  the  church,  and  to  the  cause  of  civilisation. 
When  he  should  become  a  prince,  he  could  take 
the  venerable  priest  under  his  patronage,  encou- 
rage the  spread  of  the  true  faith,  cause  his  subjects 
to  be  civilised,  and  inducenhem  to  dress  like  Chris- 
tians and  feed  like  rational  beings.  He  longed, 
with  all  the  zeal  of  a  reformer,  to  see  them  powder 
their  hair,  and  abstain  from  the  savage  practice  of 
eating  roasted  puppies. 

So  he  determined  to  marry  the  lady ;  and,  hav- 
ing thus  definitely  settled  the  question,  thought  it 
would  be  proper  to  take  the  advice  of  his  spiritual 
guide.  Father  Francis  was  shocked  at  the  bare 
mention  of  the  affair.  He  admonished  Pierre  of 
the  sin  of  marrying  a  heathen,  and  of  the  wicked- 
ness of  breaking  his  plighted  faith ;  and  assured 
him,  in  advance,  that  such  misconduct  would  bring 
down  upon  him  the  severe  displeasure  of  the 
church.  Pierre  thanked  him  with  the  most  hum- 
ble appearance  of  conviction,  and  forthwith  pro- 
ceeded to  gratify  his  own  inclination — believing 
that,  in  the  affair  of  wedlock,  he  knew  what  was 
for  his  own  good  quite  as  well  as  a  holy  monk, 
17* 


198  THE  DARK  MAID 

who,  to  the  best  of  his  judgment,  could  know  vcr} 
little  about  the  matter. 

On  the  following  morning  the  marriage  took 
place,  with  no  other  ceremony  than  the  delivery 
of  the  bride  into  the  hands  of  her  future  husband. 
Pierre  was  as  happy  as  bridegrooms  usually  are — 
fur  his  companion  was  a  slender,  pretty  girl,  with 
a  mild  black  eye  and  an  agreeable  countenance. 
They  were  conducted  to  a  wigwam,  and  installed 
at  once  into  the  offices,  of  husband  and  wit 
into  the  possession  of  th*ir  future  mansion.  The 
females  of  the  village  assembled,  and  practised  a 
good  many  jokes  at  the  expense  of  the  young 
couple;  and  Piein  .  M  well  to  get  rid  of  these  as 
to  improve  the  earliest  opportunity  of  examining 
into  the  mineral  treasures  of  the  country,  endea- 
voured, by  signs,  to  invite  his  partner  to  a  stroll 
— intimating,  at  the  same  time,  that  he  would  be 
infinitely  obliged  to  her  if  she  would  hav 
pulitoiiess  to  show  him  a  gold  mine  or  two.  The 
girl  signified  her  acquiescence,  and  present!  \ 
away  through  the  forest,  followed  by  the  ena- 
moured hair-dresser. 

As  soon  as  they  were  out  of  sight  of  the  village, 
Pierre  offered  her  his  arm,  but  the  arch  girl  darted 
away,  laughing,  and  shaking  her  black  tresses, 
which  streamed  in  the  air  behind  her,  as  she 
leaped  over  the  logs  and  glided  through  the  thick- 
ets.  Pierre  liked  her  none  the  less  for  this  evi- 


OF  ILLINOIS.  199 

dence  of  coquetry,  but  gaily  pursued  his  beautiful 
bride,  for  whom  he  began  to  feel  the  highest 
admiration.  Her  figure  was  exquisitely  moulded, 
and  the  exercise  in  which  she  was  now  engaged 
displayed  its  gracefulness  to  the  greatest  advan- 
tage. There  was  a  novelty,  too,  in  the  adventure, 
which  pleased  the  gay -hearted  Frenchman ;  and 
away  they  ran,  mutually  amused  and  mutually 
satisfied  with  each  other. 

Pierre  was  an  active  young  fellow,  and,  for  a 
while,  followed  the  beautiful  savage  with  a  credit- 
able degree  of  speed ;  but,  unaccustomed  to  the 
obstacles  which  impeded  the  way,  he  soon  became 
fatigued.  His  companion  slackened  her  pace  when 
she  found  him  lingering  behind ;  and,  when  the 
thicket  was  more  than  usually  intricate,  kindly 
guided  him  through  the  most  practicable  places, 
— always,  however,  keeping  out  of  his  reach  ;  and 
whenever  he  mended  his  pace,  or  showed  an  in-' 
clination  to  overtake  her,  she  would  dart  away, 
looking  back  over  her  shoulder,  laughing,  and 
coquetting,  and  inviting  him  to  follow.  For  a 
time  this  was  amusing  enough,  arid  quite  to  the 
taste  of  the  merry  barber ;  but  the  afternoon  was 
hot,  the  perspiration  flowed  copiously,  and  he 
began  to  doubt  the  expediency  of  having  to  catch 
a  wife,  or  win  even  a  gold  mine,  by  the  sweat  of 
his  brow — especially  in  a  new  country.  Adven- 
turers to  newly  discovered  regions  expect  to  get 


200  THE  DARK  MAID 

things  easily ;  the  fruits  of  labour  may  be  found  at 
home. 

On  they  went  in  this  manner,  until  Pierre,  wea- 
ried out,  was  about  up  the  pursuit  of  his 
light-heeled  bride,  when  they  reached  a  spot  where 
the  ground  gradually  ascended,  until,  all  at  once, 
tln-v  stood  upon  the  edge  of  an  elevated  and  exten- 
sive plain.  On  i  r  tad  heretofore  obtained 
partial  glimpses  of  the  prairies,  but  now  saw  one 
of  these  va-t  plains,  for  the  first  time,  in  its  breadth 
and  grandeur.  Its  surface  was  gently  uneven: 
and,  as  he  happened  to  be  placed  on  one  of  the 
;io  looked  over  a  boundless  expanse, 
not  a  single  tree  intercepted  the  prospect 
or  relieved  the  monotony.  He  strained  his  \ 
forward,  but  the  plain  was  boundless — marking 
the  curved  line  of  its  profile  on  the  far  d; 
horizon.  The  efleci  lered  more  striking 
by  the  appearance  of  the  setting  sun.  which  had 
sunk  to  tin  level  of  the  farthest  edge  of  the  prairie, 
and  seemed  like  a  globe  of  fire  resting  upon  the 
ground.  Pierre  looked  around  him  with  admi- 
ration. The  vast  expanse — destitute  of  trees. 
covered  with  tall  grass,  now  dried  by  the  sum- 
mer's heat,  and  extending,  as  it  seemed  to  him, 
to  the  western  verge  of  the  continent — excited  his 
special  wonder.  Little  versed  in  geography,  he 
persuaded  himself  that  he  had  reached  the  western 
boundary  of  the  world,  and  beheld  the  very  spot 


OF  ILLINOIS.  201 

where  the  sun  passed  over  the  edge*  of  the  great 
terrestrial  plane.  There  was  no  mistake.  He 
had  achieved  an  adventure  worthy  the  greatest 
captain  of  the  age.  His  form  dilated,  and  his  eye 
kindled,  with  a  consciousness  of  his  own  import- 
ance. Columbus  had  discovered  a  continent,  but 
he  had  travelled  to  the  extreme  verge  of  the 
earth's  surface,  beyond  which  nothing  remained 
to  be  discovered.  "  Yes,"  he  solemnly  exclaimed, 
"  there  is  the  end  of  the  world  !  How  fortunate 
am  I  to  have  approached  it  by  daylight,  and  with 
a  guide  ;  otherwise,  I  might  have  stepped  over  in 
the  dark,  and  have  fallen — I  know  not  where  !" 

The  Indian  girl  had  seated  herself  on  the  grass, 
and  was  composedly  waiting  his  pleasure,  when  he 
discovered  large  masses  of  smoke  rolling  upward 
in  the  west.  He  pointed  towards  this  new  pheno- 
menon, and  endeavoured  to  obtain  some  explana- 
tion of  its  meaning ;  but  the  bride,  if  she  understood 
his  enquiry,  had  no  means  of  reply.  There  is  a 
language  of  looks  which  is  sufficient  for  the  pur- 
poses of  love.  The  glance  of  approving  affection 
beams  expressively  from  the  eye,  and  finds  its  way 
in  silent  eloquence  to  the  heart.  No  doubt  that 
the  pair,  whose  bridal  day  we  have  described,  had 
already  learned,  from  each  other's  looks,  the  con- 
fession which  they  had  no  other  common  language 
to  convey ;  but  the  intercourse  of  signs  can  go  no 
further.  It  is  perfectly  inadequate  to  the  interpre- 


202  THE  DARK  MAID 

tation  of  natural  phenomena ;  and  tho  Indian  maid 
was  unable  to  explain  that  singular  appearance 
which  so  pu/xk-d  Iier  lover.  But  discovering, 
from  the  direction  to  which  he  pointed,  that  hi- 
curiosity  was  strongly  excited,  the  obliging  girl 
rose,  and  led  the  way  towards  the  west.  They 
walked  for  more  than  an  hour.  Pierre  insensibly 
became  grave  and  silent,  and  his  sympat: 
compamuii  unconsciously  fell  into  the  same  mood. 
Il<  had  taken  her  hand,  which  she  now  yielded 
with*.:,  nee,  and  they  moved  slowly,  side 

le,  over  the  plain — she  with  a  submissive 
and  demure  air,  and  IK-  alternately  admiring  his 
beautiful  bride,  and  throwing  suspicious  glances  at 
the  novel  scene  around  him.  The  sun  had  gone 

.  the  breeze  had  subsided,  and  the  stillness  of 
ua-  lian^inir  U\«T  the  prairie.    Pierre  began 
to  have  au:  ions.     Though  bold  and  vola- 

tile, a  something  like  fear  crept  over  him,  and  he 
would  have  turned  back ;  but  the  pride  of  a  French 
gentleman,  and  a  marquis  in  anticipation,  prevented 
him.  He  felt  mean — for  no  man  of  spirit  ever  be- 
romrs  seriously  alarmed  without  feeling  a  sense 
of  degradation.  There  is  something  so  unmanly 
in  ii-ar,  that,  although  no  bosom  is  entirely  proof 
feel  ashamed  to  acknowledge  its 
intlnemv  even  to  oiir-elvcs.  Our  hero  looked  for- 
ward in  terror,  yet  was  too  proud  to  turn  back. 
Superstition  was  beginning  to  throw  its  ' 


OF  ILLINOIS.  203 

visions  about  his  fancy.  He  had  taken  a  step 
contrary  to  the  advice  of  his  father  confessor,  and 
was  in  open  rebellion  against  the  church ;  and  he 
began  to  fear  that  some  evil  spirit,  under  the  guise 
of  an  Indian  maid,  was  seducing  him  away  to 
destruction.  At  all  events,  he  determined  not  to 
go  much  further. 

The  shades  of  night  had  begun  to  close,  when 
they  again  ascended  one  of  those  elevations  which 
swells  so  gradually  that  the  traveller  scarcely 
remarks  them  until  he  reaches  the  summit,  and 
beholds,  from  a  commanding  eminence,  a  bound- 
less landscape  spread  before  him.  The  veil  of 
night,  without  concealing  the  scene,  rendered  it 
indistinct ;  the  undulations  of  the  surface  were  no 
longer  perceptible  ;  and  the  prairie  seemed  a  per- 
fect plain.  One  phenomenon  astonished  and  per- 
plexed him :  before  him  the  prairie  was  lighted  up 
with  a  dim  but  supernatural  brilliancy,  like  that  of 
a  distant  fire,  while  behind  was  the  blackness  of 
darkness.  An  air  of  solitude  reigned  over  that 
wild  plain,  and  not  a  sound  relieved  the  desolation 
of  the  scene.  A  chill  crept  over  him  as  he  gazed 
around,  and  not  an  object  met  his  eye  but  that 
dark  maid,  who  stood  in  mute  patience  by  his 
side,  as  waiting  his  pleasure ;  but  on  whose  fea- 
tures, as  displayed  by  the  uncertain  light  that 
glimmered  on  them,  a  smile  of  triumph  seemed  to 
play.  He  looked  again,  and  the  horizon  gleamed 


204  THE  DARK  MAID 

brighter  and  brighter,  until  a  fiery  redness  rose 
above  its  dark  outline,  while  heavy,  slow  moving, 
masses  of  cloud  curled  upward  above  it.  It  \\as 
evidently  the  intense  reflection,  and  the  volumi- 
nous smoke,  of  a  vast  fire.  In  another  moment 
the  blaze  itself  appeared,  first  shooting  up  at  one 
spot,  and  then  at  another,  and  advancing,  until 
the  v.holr  line  ot'  h'»ri/Mii  was  clothed  with  ilames, 
that  mllcd  an>und,  and  curled,  and  dashed  upward, 
like  the  angry  waves  of  a  burning  ocean.  The 
simple  Frenchman  had  never  heard  of  the  fires 
that  sweep  over  our  wide  prairies  in  the  autumn, 
nor  did  it  enter  into  his  head  that  a  natural  < 
could  produce  an  effect  so  terrific.  The  whole 
western  horizon  was  clad  in  fire,  and,  as  far  as  the 

•uld  see,  to  the  right  and  left,  was  on- 
conflagration,  having  the  appearance  of  angry 
billows  of  a  fiery  liquid,  dashing  against  each 
other,  and  foaming,  and  throwing  llakes  of  burning 
spray  into  the  air.  There  was  a  roaring  sound 
like  that  caused  by  the  conflict  of  waves.  A  more 
terrific  sight  r  cely  be  conceived;  nor 

was  it  singular  that  an  unpractised  eye  should  be- 
hold in  that  scene  a  wide  sea  of  flame,  lashed  into 
fury  by  some  internal  commotion. 

Pierre  could  gaze  no  longer.     A  sudden  horror 
thrilled  his  soul.     His  worse  li-ai- 
in  the  tremendous  landscape.     He  saw  before  him 
the  lake  of  fire   prepared  for   the  devil  and  his 


OF  ILLINOIS.  205 

angels.  The  existence  of  such  a  place  of  punish- 
ment he  had  never  doubted  ;  but,  heretofore,  it 
had  been  a  mere  dogma  of  faith,  while  now  it  ap- 
peared before  him  in  its  terrible  reality.  He 
thought  he  could  plainly  distinguish  gigantic  black 
forms  dancing  in  the  flames,  throwing  up  their 
long  misshapen  arms,  and  writhing  their  bodies 
into  fantastic  shapes.  Uttering  a  piercing  shriek, 
he  turned  and  fled  with  the  swiftness  of  an  arrow. 
Fear  gave  new  vigour  to  the  muscles  which  had 
before  been  relaxed  with  fatigue,  and  his^feet,  so 
lately  heavy,  now  touched  the  ground  with  the  light 
and  springy  tread  of  the  antelope.  Yet,  to  him- 
self, his  steps  seemed  to  linger,  as  if  his  heels 
were  lead. 

The  Indian  girl  clapped  her  hands  and  laughed 
aloud  as  she  pursued  him.  That  laugh,  which,  at 
an  earlier  hour  of  this  eventful  day,  had  enlivened 
his  heart  by  its  joyous  tones,  now  filled  him  with 
terror.  It  seemed  the  yell  of  a  demon — the  tri- 
umphant scream  of  hellish  delight  over  the  down- 
fall of  his  soul.  The  dark  maid  of  Illinois,  so 
lately  an  object  of  love,  became,  to  his  distem- 
pered fancy,  a  minister  of  vengeance — a  fallen 
angel  sent  to  tempt  him  to  destruction.  A  super- 
natural strength  and  swiftness  gave  wings  to  his 
flight,  as  he  bounded  away  with  the  speed  of  the 
ostrich  of  the  desert ;  but  he  seemed,  to  himself, 
to  crawl  sluggishly,  and,  whenever  he  cast  a 
18 


206  THE  DABK  MAID 

glance  behind,  that  mysterious  girl  of  the  prau  i< 
was  laughing  at  his  heels.  He  tried  to  in\«>ko 
the  saints,  but,  alas  !  in  the  confusion  of  his  mind, 
he  could  not  recollect  the  names  of  more  than 
half'  a  dozen,  nor  determine  which  was  the 
suitable  one  to  be  called  upon  in  such  an  anoma- 
lous case.  Arrived  at  the  forest,  he  dashed  head- 
long through  its  tangled  thickets.  Neither  the 
darkness,  m  any  obstacle,  checked  his  car  •  i  :  hut 
scrambling  <,\<  r  lallen  timber,  tearing  through 
copse  ^nd  briar,  he  held  his  way,  bruised  and 
bleed  ing,  4hrough  the  forest.  At  last  he  reached 
tin  \ill;i_ie,  staggered  into  a  lodge  which  hap- 
pened to  be  unoccupied,  and  sunk  down  insensible. 
The  sun  was  just  rising  above  the  eastern  hori- 
zon when  Pi'Tre  awoke.  The  Indian  maid  was 
bending  over  him  with  looks  of  tender  solicitude. 
She  had  nursed  him  through  the  silent  watches  of 
the  night,  had  pillowed  his  head  upon  the  soft  plu- 
mage of  the  swan,  and  covered  him  with  robes  of 
the  finest  fur.  She  iiad  watched  his  dreamy  sleep 
through  the  long  hours,  when  all  others  \\ere 
sleeping,  and  no  eye  witnessed  her  assiduous  care 
— had  bathed  his  throbbing  temples  with  \\at« T 
from  the  spring,  and  passed  her  slender  fingers 
through  his  ringlets,  with  the  fondness  of  a  young 
and  growing  affection,  until  she  had  soothed  the 
unconscious  object  of  her  tenderness  into  a  calm 
repose.  It  was  her  first  love,  and  she  had  given 


OF  ILLINOIS.  207 

her  heart  up  to  its  influence  with  all  the  strength, 
and  all  the  weakness,  of  female  passion.  Under 
other  circumstances  it  might  long  have  remained 
concealed  in  her  own  bosom,  and  have  gradually 
become  disclosed  by  the  attentions  of  her  lover,  as 
the  flower  opens  slowly  to  the  sun.  But  she  had 
been  suddenly  called  to  the  discharge  of  the  duties 
of  a  wife ;  and  woman,  when  appealed  to  by  the 
charities  of  life,  gives  full  play  to  her  affections, 
pouring  out  the  treasures  of  her  love  in  liberal 
profusion. 

But  her  tenderness  was  thrown  away  upon  the 
slumbering  bridegroom,  whose  unusual  excitement, 
both  of  body  and*  mind,  had  been  succeeded  by  a 
profound  lethargy.  No  sooner  did  he  open  his 
eyes,  than  the  dreadful  images  of  the  night  became 
again  pictured  upon  his  imagination.  Even  that 
anxious  girl,  who  had  hung  over  him  with  sleep- 
less solicitude,  throughout  the  night,  and  still 
watched,  dejected,  by  his  side,  seemed  to  wear  a 
malignant  aspect,  and  to  triumph  in  his  anguish. 
He  shrunk  from  the  glance  of  her  eye,  as  if  its 
mild  lustre  would  have  withered  him.  She  laid 
her  hand  upon  his  brow,  and  he  writhed  as  if  a 
serpent  had  crawled  over  his  visage.  The  hope 
of  escape  suddenly  presented  itself  to  his  mind. 
He  rose,  and  rushed  wildly  to  the  shore.  The 
boats  were  just  leaving  the  bank  ;  his  companions 
had  been  grieved  at  his  marriage,  and  were 


208  inr.  I.AKK  MAID 

rhcy  found  he  had  loft  the  village  ; 
hut  Father  Fcancis,  a  /igid  moralist,  and  a  stern 
man,  determined  not  to  wait  for  him  a  moment, 
and  the  little  1>  re  already  shoved  into  the 

-tn  am,  when  the  haggard  barber  appeared,  and 
plunged  into  the  water.      As  he  climbed  the  side 
of  tin;  nearest  boat,  he  conjured  his  comra»' 
tones  of  agony,  to  fly.     Imagining  he  had  disco- 
-i.  in.-    Prooeterj    in   th'-ir  new  allies,  they 
obeyed  ;  the  oars  were  plied  with  vigour,  and  t  he- 
vessels  of  the  white  strangers  rapidly  disappeared 
front  the  eyes  of  the  astonished  Illini,  who  \\ 
much  perple\ed  by  the  abrupt  departure,  as  they 
had  been  by  the  unexpected  visit  of  their  eccentric 


Pierre  took  to  his  bed,  and  remained  an  invalid 

g  the  rest  of  t!  •.     Nor  did  he  set 

•ot  on  shore  again  in  the  new  world.     One 

glance  at  the  lake  of  fire  urn  for  him,  and 

'  not,  like  Orpheus,  look  back  at  the  in: 
regions  from  which  he  had  escaped.     The  party 
descended  the   "  ;>i  to  the  gulf  of  Mexico, 

where,  finding  a  ship  destined  for  France,  he  took 
leave  of  his  companions,  from  whom  he  had  care- 
fully concealed  the  true  cause  of  his  alarm.  Dur- 
ing the  passage  across  the  Atlantic  he  reo 

;i!th.  and.  in  some  measure,  1 
he  never  regained  his  thirst   for   adventure 
iml.ition  to  be  a  marquis,  or  his  desire  to  seek  for 


OF  ILLINOIS.  209 

gold.  The  fountain  of  rejuvenescence  itself  had 
no  charms  to  allure  him  back  to  the  dangerous 
wildernesses  of  the  far  west.  On  all  these  subjects 
he  remained  silent  as  the  grave.  One  would  have 
supposed  that  he  had  escaped  the  dominions  of 
Satan  under  a  pledge  of  secresy. 

A  new  misfortune  awaited  him  at  home,  where, 
to  his  infinite  mortification,  he  found  Annette  mar- 
ried to  a  lank,  snivelling  pastry  cook,  dispensing 
smiles,  and  pies,  and  sugar  plums,  from  behind  a 
counter,  and  enjoying  as  much  happiness  as  she 
could  have  tasted  in  the  rank  to  which  he  had 
once  destined  her.  It  was  not  kind  in  her  to  have 
jilted  Pierre  for  a  pastry  cook,  when  he  would  not 
have  jilted  her  for  any  thing  less  than  a  princess. 
Our  hero  had  stuck  to  his  integrity  like  a  gentle- 
man, until  strong  temptation  overmastered  him, 
while  she  had  listened  to  the  sugared  compliments 
of  the  confectioner,  as  soon  as  the  back  of  her 
generous  lover  was  turned,  and  became  mistress 
of  a  cake  shop,  while  he  was  laying  plans  to  make 
her  a  peeress  of  France,  and  a  princess  of  Illinois. 
Short  sighted  Annette  !  to  value  so  slightly  the 
sincere  passion  of  so  munificent  t\  lover !  Pierre 
received  the  news  of  her  defection  with  the  com- 
posure of  a  philosopher — shrugged  his  shoulders, 
snapped  his  fingers,  and  resumed  his  humble  occu- 
pation. He  was  not  the  man  to  break  his  heart 
for  a  trifle ;  and,  after  bearing  with  fortitude  the 
18* 


XJ10  THE  DARK  MAID 

loss  of  a  gold  mine,  a  throne,  and  lovely  princess, 
th<>  infidelity  of  a  light-hearted  maiden  was  not  a 
thinn  to  irriove  over.  He  lived  a  barber,  and  died 
a  bachelor.  When  the  bloom  of  youth  began  to 
fade  from  his  cheek,  and  the  acuteness  of  his  sen- 
sibilities became  a  little  blunted — when  he  saw 
hi-  mul,  the  confectioner,  prospering  and  growing 

••<!  the  prospect  of  Annette's  becoming  a 
widow,  more  and  more  remote,  his  reserve  wore 
he  began  to  relate  his  adventures  to  his 
customers.  He  became  quite  celebrated — as  all 
Europeans  are,  who  have  travelled  in  America — 
many  flocked  to  his  shop  to  hear  his  interesting 
recitals,  and  the  burning  lake  was  ,  \  com- 

;.me,  to  the  other  wonders  of  the  new  world. 
The  Indian  maid  followed  the  while  stranger  to 
the  shore,  and  saw  him  depart,  with  grief.  She 
gazed  at  the  receding  boats  until  they  turned  an 
angle  of  the  river,  where  they  vanished  for  ever 
from  her  view,  and  then  she  sat  down,  and  buried 
her  face  in  her  hands.  Her  companions,  in  sympa- 

r  her  feelings,  left  her  alone,  and  when  all 
eyes  were  withdrawn,  she  gave  vent  to  her  feelings, 
and  wept  bitterly  over  her  shame.  She  had  been 
betrothed  in  the  face  of  the  whole  tribe,  and  had 
been  publicly  deserted  by  her  lover.  Ue  had  fled 
from  her  with  every  appearance  of  terror  and 
loathing.  She  was  repudiated  under  circui 
ces  of  notoriety,  which  deeply  wounded  her  pride : 


OF  ILLINOIS.  211 

while  a  tenderness,  newly  awakened,  and  evinced 
to  the  full  extent  that  maiden  delicacy  permitted, 
was  cruelly  repaid  by  insult.  Nor  was  the  acute- 
ness  of  these  feelings  at  all  blunted  by  the  suspi- 
cion that  she  had  been  he/self  an  accessory  in 
producing  the  melancholy  result.  Pierre  had  fol- 
lowed her  to  the  prairie,  in  all  the  joyous  hilarity 
of  an  ardent  lover- — he  had  fled  from  her  in  fear, 
and,  although  the  cause  of  his  terror  was  unknown, 
she  imputed  it  to  something  in  her  own  person  or 
deportment.  There  is  no  anguish  which  a  woman 
feels  so  keenly  as  the  pang  of  mortified  affection — 
the  conviction  that  her  offered  love  is  spurned — 
the  virgin  shame  of  having  betrayed  a  preference 
for  one  who  does  not  requite  it — the  mortification 
of  attempting  and  failing  to  kindle  the  flame  of 
love.  Woman  can  bear,  and  thousands  have 
borne,  the  pain  of  loving  without  being  beloved, 
when  the  secret  remains  hidden  in  her  own  bosom ; 
but  when  the  husband,  or  the  accepted  lover,  re- 
pels, or  coldly  estimates,  the  warm  and  frank 
avowal  of  a  virtuous  passion,  he  inflicts  a  wound 
which  no  surgery  can  heal,  he  touches  one  of  the 
master  springs  of  the  heart,  with  a  rudeness  that 
reaches  its  vitality  and  withers  it  for  ever.  Wo- 
man can  bear  pain,  or  misfortune,  with  a  fortitude 
that  man  may  in  vain  attempt  to  emulate  ;  but  she 
has  a  heart  whose  sensibilities  require  a  delicate 
observance ; — she  submits  to  power  with  humility, 


212  THE  DARK  MAID  OP  ILLINOIS. 

to  oppression  with  patience,  to  the  ordinary  ca- 
lamities of  human  nature  with  resignation — no- 
thing breaks  her  heart  but  insulted  love. 

For  whole  days  did  the  Indian  maid  wander 
through  the  solitary  forest,  ashamed  to  return  to 
the  encampment  of  her  tribe.  When  led  back  to 
her  father's  lodge,  she  avoided  the  society  of  the 
maiden  throng,  and  fled  from  the  young  warriors 
who  would  have  courted  her  smiles.  She  ceased 
to  be  numbered  among  the  dark-eyed  beauties  of 
her  tribe  ;  and  but  a  few  moons  had  passed  away 
since  the  visit  of  the  white  strangers  from  the  land 
of  the  rising  sun,  when  a  little  hillock,  on  the  sum- 
mit of  a  lonely  mound  in  the  prairie,  covered  the 
remains  of  the  beautiful  and  love  stricken  MAID  OF 
ILLINOIS. 


213 


THE   NEW    MOON. 


A    TRADITION    OF    THE    OMAWHAWS. 


Far  up  the  Missouri  river,  where  the  shores  of 
that  turbid  stream  are  bounded  by  interminable 
prairies,  the  traveller  sees  the  remains  of  a  village 
of  the  Omawhaw  Indians.  The  former  inhabit- 
ants, obeying  a  law  of  their  erratic  nature,  have 
removed  to  some  spot  still  more  distant  from  the 
habitations  of  the  white  men,  and  better  supplied 
with  game.  Nothing  remains  of  them  but  those 
vestiges  which  man,  however  poor  or  savage, 
always  leaves  behind  him,  to  attest,  even  in  his 
simplest  state,  his  superiority  over  the  brute  of 
the  forest. 

The  ruin  is  extensive,  but  of  recent  date.  The 
naked  poles,  that  once  supported  the  frail  lodges, 
are  still  standing  scattered  over  the  plain,  and  the 
blackened  embers  lie  in  heaps  upon  the  deserted 
fire-places.  The  area,  which  was  once  trodden 
hard  by  human  feet,  is  now  covered  with  a  beau- 
* 


214  THE  NEW  MOON. 

tiful  carpet  of  short,  luxuriant,  blue-grass — a  pro- 
duction which  ever  springs  up  near  the  hahitMtinu.-, 
of  man,  flourishes  round  his  ruined  mansion  long 
after  hi<  departure,  and  clothes  with  verdure  the 
grave  in  which  his  body  reposes.  The  council- 
house,  where  the  warriors  met  to  recount  their 
victories,  or  to  plan  their  hostile  excursions,  is 
oiitiivly  destroyed,  and  its  remains  are  only  distin- 
<_nii>hcd  from  those  of  the  other  lodges  by  their 
larger  size  and  central  situation.  Here  too  is  still 
seen,  crumbling  to  decay,  the  post  around  which 
the  warriors  danced, — where  the  war-song  has 
often  been  sung — where  the  buffalo-dance  has  fre- 
quently been  witnessed — and  where  perhaps,  too, 
many  an  unhappy  prisoner  has  endured  the  most 
dreadful  tortures  that  ingenious  hatred  could  invent. 
The  village  was  bounded,  on  one  side,  by  the 
Missouri,  whose  bold  current,  discoloured  by  the 
earthy  substances  with  which  it  loads  itself  in  its 
violent  career,  swept  along  the  foot  of  the  bluff  on 
which  it  stood ; — on  another,  by  a  deep  lagoon,  an 
expanse  of  clear  water  fed  by  a  creek,  and  filled 
with  aquatic  plants,  which  shot  up  luxuriantly 
from  its  oozy  bottom.  In  front  a  wide  prairie, 
covered  with  its  verdant  and  flowery  carpet,  pre- 
sented a  long  undulating  line  of  horizon  to  tin 
The  whole  town  was  surrounded  by  a  palisade, 
now  entirely  destroyed,  beyond  which  were  the 
corn  fields,  where  the  squaws  practised  their  rude 


THE  NEW  MOON.  215 

agriculture,  and  which  furnished  a  scanty  subsist- 
ence to  this  improvident  people  during  the  gloom 
of  winter. 

The  spot  has  been  some  time  deserted,  though 
hundreds  of  miles  still  intervene  between  it  and 
the  most  advanced  settlement  of  the  whites.  For 
the  blight  of  the  white  man  often  precedes  him, 
and  the  Indian  recoils  instinctively,  even  before  he 
has  actually  suffered  by  contact  with  the  race 
which  has  oppressed  his  fathers.  The  shadow 
of  the  white  man  falls  before  him,  and  the  Indian, 
chilled  by  his  approach,  sorrowfully  abandons  the 
graves  of  his  fathers,  and  seeks  a  new  home  in 
some  wilderness  less  accessible  to  the  footstep  of 
the  stranger. 

The  traveller  pauses  here  to  indulge  that  pen- 
sive train  of  thought,  which  is  always  awakened 
by  the  sight  of  the  deserted  habitations  of  man. 
How  sacred  is  the  spot  which  a  human  being  has 
consecrated  by  making  it  his  home  !  With  what 
awe  do  we  tread  over  the  deserted  threshold,  and 
gaze  upon  the  dilapidated  wall !  The  feeling  is 
the  same  in  kind,  however  it  may  differ  in  degree, 
whether  we  survey  the  crumbling  ruins  of  a  castle 
or  the  miserable  relics  of  a  hamlet.  The  imagi- 
nation loves  to  people  the  deserted  scene,  to  picture 
the  deeds  of  its  former  inhabitants,  and  to  revive 
the  employments  of  those  who  now  slumber  in  the 
tomb.  The  hearth-stone,  which  once  glowed  with 


216  THE  NEW  MOON. 

warmth,  is  cold,  and  the  silence  of  death  is  brood- 
ing over  that  >p«.t.  which  was  once  the  seat  of 
t«-ti\ity.  Here  the  warrior  trod,  in  the  pride  of 
manhood,  arrayed  in  martial  panoply,  and  bent  on 
schemes  of  plunder  and  revenge.  Here  stood  the 
orator  and  the  hoary  seer.  Here  were  witnessed 
the  sports  of  youth,  and  the  gossip  of  old  age. 
The  maidm  was  In  n  in  the  modest  garb  of  youth- 
*  ful  I  s  listening  with  downcast  eye  to 

voice  of  adulation,  or  laughing  away  the  hours 
with  the  careless  joy  of  youthful  hilarity;  the  wife 
was  seen  surrounded  by  the  maternal  cares,  and 
the  <|iii<  t  l>lamli>hments,  of  domestic  life;  and  the 
child  sported  in  b«»istemns  mirth.  Yes — it  is  the 
-am-'  feeling  : — the  \\  retrln-d  wigwam  of  the  poor 
Indian  was  as  much  his  home  as  the  villa  of  the 
Roman  >«  -nator;  and,  though  the  ruins  of  the  one, 
from  their  superior  magnificence.  ite  more 

curiosity  than  those  of  the  other,  the  shadow  that 
rests  upon  the  h<  linger  among  either, 

is  equally  induced  hy  sympathy  for  the  fallen  for- 
tunes of  those  who  once  flourished  and  are  now  no 
more.  Men  are  callous  to  the  sufferings  of  the 
living,  but  few  tread  with  indifference  over  the 
•  s  of  the  dead,  or  view  with  insensibility  the 
relics  of  ancient  day-. 

All  are  gone.  Some  are  banished,  and  others, 
as  the  scripture  beautifully  expresses  it,  arc  not: 
the  graves  of  the  dead  may  be  faintly  discerned  in 


THE  NEW  MOOX.  217 

the  neglected  fields,  but  the  foot-prints  of  those 
who  have  fled  to  other  lands  have  long  vanished 
from  the  green  sward  and  the  neglected  streets. 
It  was  thus  with  Nineveh  and  Babylon;  it  was 
thus  with  the  desecrated  seats  of  the  Druids,  and 
with  the  strong  castles  of  feudal  Europe.  The 
story  of  what  they  once  were  lives  in  song  and 
history;  romance  -  has  gathered  a  few  fragments, 
and  entwined  them  with  the  fabulous  creations  of 
genius ;  but  the  eye  of  the  spectator,  seeking  the 
traces  of  a  vanished  reality,  finds  only  the  ruins  of 
mouldered  edifices,  and  the  ashes  of  the  uncon- 
scious dead. 

However  unsatisfactory  may  be  our  researches 
in  such  scenes,  we  linger  among  them  with  mourn- 
ful pleasure.  There  is  something  which  is  remark- 
ably exciting  in  the  contrast  between  the  present 
and  the  past.  Nothing  seizes  the  imagination  so 
suddenly,  or  so  strongly,  as  a  vivid  exhibition  of 
death  or  desolation  contrasted  with  possession,  and 
life,  and  loveliness.  All,  that  once  was,  is  gone 
or  is  changed.  We  repose  secure,  surrounded  by 
solitude  and  peace,  where  the  warrior  once  stood 
at  bay,  and  where  danger  beat  against  the  ram- 
parts as  the  waves  dash  against  the  rock-bound 
shore.  Where  there  was  life,  we  stand  in  the 
midst  of  death.  The  abodes  of  those  who  once 
lived  are  deserted,  and  an  awful  silence  prevails. 
19 


218  THE  NEW  MOON. 

The  reptile  and  the  wild  beast  have  taken  posses- 
sion of  the  spot  formerly  occupied  by  the  social 
circle.  The  weed  and  the  briar  cover  the  dilapi- 
dated hearth-stone,  and  conceal  the  long-forgotten 
grave.  As  we  gaze  at  these  things,  a  feeling  of 
sympathy  is  awakened  in  favour  of  the  departed 
inhabitant  : — however  unamiable  his  character — 
however  fierce  or  wicked  he  may  have  been,  the 
blast  of  desolation  has  passed  over  him,  and  the 
heart  spontaneously  yields  its  forgiveness  to  those 
sins  and  errors  that  have  been  punished,  and  the 
consequences  of  which  sleep  in  the  tomb  with  the 
aggressor  and  the  victim.  And  we  think  of  our- 
selves, and  of  those  who  are  dear  to  us.  We  too 
shall  sleep — our  habitations  shall  be  given  to  the 
stranger,  or  be  swept  away  by  the  hand  of  time  ; 
and  the  places  that  knew  us  once  shall  know  us  no 
longer,  for  ever. 

We  are  growing  serious.  Let  us  return  to  the 
village.  It  was,  in  days  past,  a  pleasant  spot,  to 
those  who  could  find  pleasure  in  the  savage  state. 
The  Omawhaws  dwelt  here  for  five  months  in  the 
year,  employed  in  raising  beans  and  corn  for  their 
subsistence  in  the  winter,  and  in  dressing  the  buf- 
falo skins  which  had  been  taken  in  the  hunt  of  the 
preceding  season.  During  the  rest  of  the  year 
they  wandered  over  those  wide  plains  where  the 
buffalo  grazes,  and  the  deer  and  elk  are  found  ; 
spending  the  whole  time  in  hunting  and  feasting 


THE  NEW  MOON.  219 

when  the  game  was  abundant,  and  in  toil  and 
starvation  when  it  was  not  plentiful. 

They  were  often  engaged  in  war.  The  Saukies, 
a  warlike  tribe,  were  their  enemies,  and  the  fierce 
Sioux  bands  often  harassed  them.  But  they  con- 
tinued for  years  to  elude  their  foes,  during  the 
hunting  season,  by  vigilance,  by  rapid  marches, 
and  painful  retreats ;  and  to  defend  the  village 
from  assault,  by  their  watchfulness  in  discovering 
the  approach  of  danger,  or  their  courage  in  repel- 
ling it,  during  the  short  interval  of  repose  allowed 
them  while  their  corn  was  growing. 

Many  miles  below  the  town,  at  a  very  con- 
spicuous point  on  the  shore  of  the  Missouri,  is  a 
small  mound  which  covers  the  remains  of  Wash- 
inggahsaba,  or  the  Blackbird,  a  celebrated  chief, 
who  died  some  years  ago  at  this  spot  on  his  way 
home.  According  to  his  own  wish  he  was  interred 
in  a  sitting  posture,  on  his  favourite  horse,  upon 
the  summit  of  a  high  bluff  bank  of  the  Missouri, — 
"  that  he  might  continue  to  see  the  pale  faces 
ascending  the  river  to  trade  with  the  Omawhaws." 
A  hillock  of  earth  was  raised  over  his  remains,  on 
which  food  was  regularly  placed  for  several  years 
afterwards.  But  this  rite  has  been  discontinued. 
We  know  not  how  long  a  spirit  requires  to  be  fed ; 
but  it  seems  that  there  is  a  limit,  beyond  which  it 
is  not  necessary  for  the  living  to  furnish  aliment 
to  the  deceased.  A  staff  supporting  a  white  flag, 


•-•-'"  HIE  NEW  MOON. 

that  marked  to  the  eye  of  the  distant  traveller  the 
site  of  this  solitary  grave,  and  called  for  a  tribute 
of  respect  to  one  whom  his  people  delighted  tu 
honour,  is  no  longer  in  existence. 

The  Blackbird  was  a  person  of  singular  capa- 
city, and  the  greatest  man  of  his  tribe,  lie  had 
an  intellect  which  obtained  the  mastery  of  other 
minds,  and  gave  him  absolute  power  over  those 
around  him.  They  honoured  his  -»t  his 

virtues.  Though  a  great,  he  was  a  repulsive, 
man.  lie  possessed  an  extraordinary  genius, 
which- enabled  him  to  sway  the  multitude,  and 
gain  them  over  to  his  purposes — but  not  to  win 
their  affections.  They  clun^  to  him  with  devoted 
fidelity — followed,  served,  and  obeyed,  with  a  su- 
iiious  attachment,  which  bound  them  to  his 
person — but  which  was  not  love. 

He  ruled  his  tribe  with  arbitrary  power,  and 
permitted  none  to  share,  or  to  dispute,  his  nuth<  >nty. 
He  had  gained  the  reputation  of  a  great  me- 
man,  who  was  supposed  to  wield  a  mysterious 
influence  over  the  lives  of  those  around  him,  and 
the  nation  stood  in  awe  of  him,  as  the  supreme 
arbiter  of  their  fate.  Whenever  he  prophesied 
the  death  of  an  individual,  the  event  ensued  with 
nnerrinir  certainty:  and  those  who  counteracted  his 
views,  who  disobeyed  his  counsel,  or  in  any  man- 
ner incurred- his  displeasure,  were  removed  agree- 
ably to  his  predictions,  and,  apparently,  by  the 


THE  NEW  MOON.  221 

operation  of  his  spells.  Such  a  mysterious,  dread- 
ful power  quelled  the  wild  spirit  of  the  Omawhaw, 
who  stood  submissive,  awed  into  silence,  in  the 
presence  of  the  despotic  chief,  and  trembled,  even 
in  his  absence,  if  a  rebellious  thought  spontane- 
ously swelled  his  bosom.  He  was  considered  as 
the  friend  of  the  Great  Spirit ;  and  it  was  thought 
that  the  Omawhaws  were  particularly  honoured, 
in  having  such  a  personage  placed  at  the  helm  of 
their  affairs.  Many  were  the  victims  of  his  am- 
bition. Whenever  his  keen  dark  eye  fell  in 
displeasure  on  an  individual,  and  the  blighting 
prophecy  was  uttered, — the  victim,  from  that 
instant,  bore  a  charmed  life  ;— he  sickened,  with- 
ered away,  and  sunk  rapidly  to  the  grave.  But 
the  power  of  the  chief  continued  undiminished  to 
the  last ;  and  the  whites  alone  believed  that  they 
had  discovered  the  dreadful  secret  of  his  influence 
over  life  and  mind — a  secret,  which  even  they 
dared  scarcely  whisper  to  each  other.  Such  is 
arbitrary  power, — gained  by  long  years  of  toil, 
and  held  up  by  painful  watchfulness,  its  harvest  is 
distrust  and  hatred.  Who  would  be  great  on 
such  terms  ? 

To  the  American  traders,  who  were  induced, 
by  the  enterprising  spirit  of  traffic,  to  visit  that 
remote  region,  the  crafty  chief  was  probably  in- 
debted for  his  power.  It  is  supposed  that  they 
secretly  furnished  him  with  the  most  subtle  drugs, 
19* 


222  THE  NEW  MOON. 

which  he  used  so  artfully,  that  even  they  who 
supplied  them,  and  who  thus  courted  his  favour, 
by  a  sacrifice  of  principle  most  incredibly  atro- 
cious, remained  uncertain  whether  he  admini- 
them  directly  as  poisons,  or  employed  them  in  the 
horrid  operations  of  magic.  Certain  it  is,  that 
although  capricious  towards  all  others,  he  pro- 
tected and  countenanced  the  traders  with  unwa- 
vering friendship.  11<  was  true  to  them,  and  to 
tin.'  \vhit<  people  in  general,  under  all  changes  of 
fortune  or  of  temper ;  and  there  is  always  reason 
to  suspect  that  a  mutual  kindness  of  long  continu- 
ance, between  parties  so  politic  and  selfish,  is  pro- 
duced only  by  reciprocal  advantage.  It  is  said, 
that  \\hile  he  compelled  the  traders  to  yield  up  to 
him,  ^ratuitmisly,  a  portion  of  their  goods,  he 
obliged  his  people  to  purchase  the  remainder  at 
double  prices,  so  that  the  trader  lost  nothing  by 
his  rapacity. 

He  delighted  in  the  display  of  his  power,  and 
seemed,  on  some  occasions,  to  exert  his  authority 
for  no  other  purpose  than  to  show  that  he  pos- 
sessed it.  One  day,  during  a  great  national  hunt, 
in  which  all  the  tribe  engaged,  and  which  was  con- 
ducted with  the  discipline  of  a  warlike  expedition, 
they  arrived,  fatigued  and  thirsty,  at  the  bank  of  a 
fine  flowing  stream.  They  had  been  travelling 
over  plains  exposed  to  the  sun,  and  destitute  of 
water,  and  the  sight  of  a  clear  rivulet  filled  the 


THE  NEW  MOON.  223 

party  with  joy.  But,  although  all  were  parched 
with  thirst,  the  chief,  to  their  surprise,  permitted 
none  to  drink,  but  a  white  man,  who  happened  to 
be  in  company.  He  gave  no  reason  for  his  con- 
duct ;  a  cold  peremptory  mandate  announced  his 
will,  and  a  sullen,  though  implicit,  obedience,  at- 
tested the  despotic  nature  of  his  command  over 
his  submissive  followers.  The  painted  warriors, 
fierce,  and  wild,  and  untamed,  as  they  were, 
neither  hesitated  nor  murmured  at  an  unjust 
order,  which,  although  it  seemed  the  result  of 
caprice,  was  probably  intended  to  try  their  disci- 
pline, and  to  accustom  them  to  obey  without 
question. 

There  was  one  that  loved  him,  and  towards 
whom  his  stern  features  sometimes  relaxed  into  a 
smile  of  kindness.  One  of  our  most  popular 
writers — a  ladyj  whose  own  affections  are  so  pure 
and  refined,  as  to  enable  her  to  describe,  with  pe- 
culiar grace  and  fidelity,  the  gentler  emotions  of 
the  heart — has  lately  drawn  so  true  a  picture  of 
the  love  of  a  father  for  his  daughter,  that  I  shall 
not  venture  "  to  dwell  on  this  development  of  affec- 
tion." Even  the  callous  savage  felt  it.  He,  who 
had  no  tear  nor  smile  for  any  other  human  being, 
was  softened  into  a  feeling  akin  to  love,  towards 
one  gentle  creature.  He  had  a  daughter,  called 
Menae,  or  The  New  Moon,  who  was  the  most 
beautiful  female  of  the  tribe.  The  Indian  women 


224  THE  NEW  MOON. 

arc  usually  short,  and  ungraceful ;  but  she  had  a 
figure  of  which  an  European  lady  might  have 
vain.  She  was  taller  and  fairer  than  the 
KM  of  the  Omawhaw  maidens,  and  towered  i 
them  as  her  father  did  above  the  men.  Her  com- 
plexion was  so  light  as  to  be  nearly  pure,  and  the 
blush  mantled  in  her  cheek  when  she  spoke.  Her 
was  beautifully  rounded,  and  her  limbs  of 
exquisite  proportion.  But  her  superiority  was 
that  of  Mature  and  womanly  grace;  she  claimed 
no  obv  tribute  to  rank,  nor  mad' 

ostentatious  display  of  her  beauty.  Her  appro- 
priate and  euphonous  name  was  given,  not  merely 
on  account  of  the  mild  brilliancy  of  her  charms, 
but  in  reference  also  to  the  sweetness  of  disposi- 
tion, which  rendered  her  an  universal  favourite, 
and  caused  her  to  be  received,  at  all  times,  and  in 
every  company,  with  a  complacency  similar  to 
that  with  which  we  welcome  the  first  appearance 
of  the  luminary  of  the  night. 

Beau  a  exerts  an  influence,  for  good  or 

evil,  upon  the  female  mind.  No  woman  grows  to 
maturity  unconscious  of  a  possession,  which,  if 
rightly  used,  is  her  richest  treasure.  It  is  that 
which  raises  her  above  her  own  sex,  and  gives  her 
a  transcendent  mastery  over  the  affections  of  man. 
A  beautiful  woman  possesses  a  power,  which,  com- 
bined with  an  amiable  deportment,  and  directed  by 
honourable  principle,  is  more  efficient  than  AS 


THE  NEW  MOON.  225 

or  genius.  No  man  was  ever  formed  with  a  heart 
so  callous  as  to  be  insensible  to  its  magic  influ- 
ence. It  is  a  talisman,  as  potent  as  the  lamp  of 
Aladdin,  in  the  hands  of  one  who  uses  it  with 
modesty  and  virtue ;  but  a  deadly  curse  in  the 
possession  of  a  weak  or  vicious  woman. 

The  destiny  of  a  beautiful  girl  is  most  usually 
coloured  by  the  possession  of  this  fascinating 
treasure.  It  has  a  controlling  influence  upon  the 
formation  of  her  character,  which  elevates  her 
above,  or  sinks  her  below,  her  companions.  The 
heartless  beauty,  who  lives  for  conquest,  becomes 
the  most  insensible  of  her  sex.  Neglecting  the 
appropriate  graces,  and  solid  accomplishments, 
which  throw  so  many  pure  and  hallowed  fascina- 
tions around  the  sweet  companion  of  man,  she 
soon  learns  to  feel  the  want,  and  to  supply  the  ab- 
sence, of  womanly  attractions,  by  artificial  bland- 
ishments. Almost  unconsciously  she  becomes 
artful,  and  learns  to  live  in  a  corrupted  atmosphere 
of  deception.  The  time  soon  arrives  when  the 
beautiful  flower  which  attracted  admiration  with- 
ers— and  the  stem  which  bore  it  is  found  to  be 
that  of  a  worthless  weed. 

But  where  the  mind  is  sound,  and  the  heart 
pure,  beauty  elevates  the  character  of  a  young 
female.  The  admiration  which  she  receives, 
even  in  childhood,  softens  her  affections,  and  sti- 
mulates her  latent  ambition.  The  glance,  and  the 


226  THE  NEW  MOON. 

tone  of  gallantry,  with  which  she  is  addressed, 
awakens  the  responsive  sentiment  which  gives  the 
pro  per  tune  to  her  ailections.  els  her 

power,  and  assumes  the  dignity  of  her  sex.  A 
womanly  tenderness  and  grace  is  seen  in  all  her 
actions.  Accustomed  to  admiration,  her  brain  is 
not  turned  by  the  idle  breath  of  unmeaning  com- 
pliment. Coniidi 'lit  in  her  powers  of  pleasing,  she 
ri-es  above  the  little  stratagems,  and  sordid  jea- 
lousies, of  her  sex,  and  scorns  to  use  any  allure- 
ment to  extort  those  attentions  to  which  she  feels 
herself  entitled.  Thus  it  is  that  beauty  gives 
power  to  vice,  and  strength  and  gracefulness  to 
virtue. 

It  is  also  true,  that  the  possession  of  beauty  is 
apt  to  improve  those  exterior  graces,  which  are 
so  important  in  woman  as  to  be  almost  virtues, 
though,  in  fact,  they  involve  little  moral  respon<i- 
bility.  The  kn«.v.  .it  we  possess  an  envi- 

able quality  stimulates  to  its  improvement.  The 
woman,  who  discovers  in  herself  the  power  of 
pleasing,  is  apt  to  cultivate  that  which  produces 
an  effect  so  gratifying  to  herself  and  so  agreeable 
to  others.  Her  ingenuity  is  quickened  by  encou- 
ragement. As  the  man  w  ho  has  a  capital  to  build 
upon  is  more  apt  to  husband  his  resources,  and 
aim  at  great  wealth,  than  him  who,  having  nothing 
to  begin  with,  has  no  expectation  of  accumulating 
a  fortune — so  the  beauty  has  a  capital,  which 


THE  NEW  MOON.  227 

induces  her  to  study  neatness,  grace,  and   pro- 
priety. 

I  know  not  whether  any  of  this  philosophy  holds 
good  among  the  Omawhaws— I  am  sure  that,  as 
things  go  in  our  own  land,  I  am  not  far  from  the 
orthodox  creed  in  respect  to  this  delicate  matter. 
Of  one  thing,  however,  there  is  no  doubt :  Menae 
was  not  only  the  most  beautiful  of  the  Omawhaws, 

but  she  seemed  to  feel  the  consciousness  of  her 

• 

advantage,  and  to  improve  it  with  a  skill  of  which 
the  unenlightened  heathen  around  her  had  no  idea. 
It  might  have  been  because  she  was  the  daughter 
of  a  chief — or  because  a  portion  of  her  father's 
talents  had  descended  to  her — but  I  am  inclined 
to  think  it  was  because  she  was  remarkably  hand- 
some. For  one  or  all  of  these  reasons,  she  was 
more  neat  in  her  dress,  more  graceful  in  her  car- 
riage, more  sedate  and  modest  in  her  conduct, 
more  dignified,  and  altogether  more  lady-like,  after 
the  fashion  of  the  Omawhaws,  than  any  other 
young  lady  of  that  nation : — all  which  I  am  ready 
to  verify. 

Among  the  Omawhaws,  females  are  usually  be- 
trothed in  childhood,  but  the  daughter  of  Blackbird 
had  remained  free  from  any  engagement.  Great 
men  sometimes  trample  on  national  usages  which 
interfere  with  their  own  designs,  and  the  politic 
chief  of  the  Omawhaws  might  have  kept  his 
daughter  free  from  any  engagement,  in  order  to 


228  THE  NEW  MOON. 

be  at  full  liberty,  at  any  time,  to  make  for  her  the 
best  match  which  his  situation  might  command. 
Or,  perhaps,  the  awe  in  which  the  chief  was  held, 
and  the  general  belief  in  his  supernatural  power, 
may  have  kept  the  other  fathers  of  the  tribe  at  a 
distance,  or  have  induced  a  doubt  in  their  minds 
whether  a  near  alliance  with  their  dreaded  leader 
was  desirable.  Such  however  was  the  fact.  Menae 
had  now  n-aehed  her  fifteenth  \  ear,  and  the  young 
warriors  began  to  look  towards  her  as  an  object  of 
peculiar  attraction.  In  her  presence  they  reined 
up  their  horses,  involuntarily  seeking  to  display 
the  action  of  their  steeds  and  their  own  horse- 
manship— or  urired  their  canoes  over  the  eddying 
waves  of  the  Missouri  with  redoubled  vigour. 
Some  of  them  improved  vastly  in  their  attention 
to  the  labours  of  the  toilet,  adorned  their  faces 
with  an  unusual  quantity  of  red  paint,  and  their 
necks  with  the  elaws  of  bears — and  hung  all  sorts 
of  grisly  ornaments  about  their  persons.  Others 
exhibited  the  scalps  of  their  enemies  Main  in  battle, 
with  more  than  ordinary  ostentation ;  and  the  tro- 
phies torn  from  slaughtered  white  men  became 
quite  the  fashion.  But  all  in  vain :  the  New 
Moon  moved  gracefully  in  her  orbit,  shedding 
her  beams  alike  on  all,  and  not  distinguishing 
any  with  particular  marks  ot'her  favour. 

More  than  a  year  previous  to  the  time  at  which 
our  tale  commences,  a  young  trader  had  arrived 


THE  NEW  MOON.  229 

at  the  Omawhaw  village.  Naturally  sagacious, 
and  expert  in  business,  he  soon  became  acquainted 
with  the  customs  of  the  tribe,  and  acquired  the 
confidence  of  the  people.  His  appearance  was 
prepossessing,  his  look  was  bold  and  manly,  and 
his  speech  prompt  and  frank,  yet  cautious  and 
respectful.  The  squaws  called  him  the  handsome 
white  man,  but  the  more  discriminating  warriors 
designated  him  the  wise  stranger. 

He  was  one  of  a  very  numerous  and  successful 
class,  who  are  chiefly  distinguished  by  their  faculty 
for  getting  along  in  the  world,  but  who,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  possession  of  this  one  quality,  receive 
credit  for  many  others.  Calm,  mild,  with  an  agree- 
able smile  always  playing  over  his  features,  Mr. 
Bolingbroke  was  pronounced  to  be  a  young  gen- 
tleman of  excellent  heart ;  but  the  truth  was,  that 
his  heart  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  blandness  of 
his  manners.  The  secret  of  that  uniform  self- 
possession  and  civility  consisted  simply  in  the 
absence  of  passion ;  the  heart  never  concerned 
itself  in  Mr.  Bolingbroke 's  business.  He  was  even 
tempered,  because  he  took  no  interest  in  any  thing 
but  his  own  personal  advancement ;  and,  as  long 
as  his  affairs  went  on  prosperously,  there  was  no 
reason  why  a  perpetual  sunshine  should  not  play 
over  his  features.  He  was  courteous  from  policy, 
because  men  are  managed  more  easily  by  kindness 
than  by  stratagem  or  force ;  and  because  it  was 
20 


230  THE  NEW  MOON. 

more  natural  to  him  to  smile  than  to  frown.  The 
world  gave  him  credit  for  a  great  deal  of  feeling — 
simply  because  he  had  very  little;  for  the  less 
sensibility  a  man  has,  the  more  he  affects.  He 
was  ardent  and  energetic  in  his  business,  earnest 
in  the  pursuit  of  pleasure,  and  gay  in  company ; 
but  the  observer,  who  had  watched  him  closely, 
would  have  found  that  the  only  chords  in  his 
bosom  which  were  ever  touched,  were  those  of 
self-gratification  and  self-interest. 

The  judicious  conduct  of  Mr.  Bolingbroke  met 
its  usual  reward,  and  he  was  prosperous  in  trade. 
But,  as  time  rolled  on,  other  traders  came  to  the 
village,  competition  reduced  his  gains,  and  he  be- 
gan to  see  the  necessity  of  adopting  some  expedient 
which  should  give  him  an  advantage  over  his  rivals. 
This  was  a  matter  of  too  much  importance  to  be 
settled  in  a  moment ;  therefore  he  studied  over  it 
for  several  months,  smiling  and  showing  his  white 
teeth  all  the  while,  and  banishing  every  shadow  of 
care  from  his  fine  open  countenance.  He  even 
squeezed  the  hands  of  his  competitors  more  warm- 
ly than  usual,  strolled  often  to  their  .wigwams, 
laughed  with  glee  at  their  jokes,  and  seemed 
really  to  love  them,  and  to  take  an  interest  in 
their  prosperity.  The  result  of  his  cogitations 
was  a  conviction  that  the  most  feasible  plan  for 
rising  above  competition  would  be  that  of  wedlock, 
— that  of  identifying  himself  with  the  tribe,  enlist- 


THE  NEW  MOON.  231 

ing  their  affections,  and  securing  the  influence  of 
a  powerful  friend  by  a  marriage  with  the  daughter 
of  some  influential  person ;  nor  did  he  hesitate  a 
moment  in  selecting,  as  the  happy  lady,  the  beauty 
of  the  tribe — the  New  Moon — the  only  and  beloved 
daughter  of  the  ruling  chief. 

The  young  merchant  had  more  than  once  looked 
with  a  delighted  eye  at  the  graceful  form  of  Menae, 
had  spoken  to  her  kindly  when  they  met,  and  had 
paid  her  the  homage  of  gallant  courtesy  which 
beauty  always  exacts.  She  had  received  his  at- 
tentions with  civility,  but  without  any  appearance 
of  being  flattered  by  them.  But  now  her  quick 
apprehension  discovered  that  there  was  something 
in  his  manner  altogether  different  from  his  ordi- 
nary politeness.  When  he  met  this  brightest  of 
all  the  stars  in  the  galaxy  of  Omawhaw  beauty, 
his  eye  rested  upon  her  with  a  peculiar  meaning ; 
and  he  more  than  once  stopped,  as  if  he  would 
have  spoken.  How  quick-sighted  is  woman  in  the 
affairs  of  the  heart !  She  saw  that  the  white 
stranger  was  smitten ;  and  the  conviction  afforded 
her  that  mischievous  satisfaction,  which  a  pretty 
girl  always  feels,  on  witnessing  the  havoc  made 
by  her  charms,  when  her  own  affections  remain 
untouched.  It  was  so  with  Menae  ;  the  white 
stranger  had  as  yet  made  no  impression  on  her 
heart.  Some  presents,  of  more  value  than  those 
which  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  giving  to  the 


232  THE  NEW  MOON. 

Indian  maidens,  convinced  her  of  that  which  she 
had  begun  to  suspect ;  and  she  whispered  to  her- 
self, in  the  exultation  of  a  girl  over  her  first  con- 
quest, "  the  handsome  white  man  loves  the  New 
Moon." 

Just  at  this  crisis  arrived  the  season  of  the  grand 
summer  hunt,  when,  the  corn  having  been  weeded, 
the  whole  tribe  abandoned  the  village,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  the  great  plains  where  the  buffaloes 
graze  in  vast  herds.  This  is  an  occasion  of  great 
rejoicing.  For  several  days  previous  to  the  de- 
parture of  the  tribe,  feasts  were  held,  and  councils 
assembled  to  deliberate  on  the  route,  to  devise  the 
plan  of  the  hunt,  and  to  suggest  the  necessary 
precautions  to  avoid  the  snares  of  their  enemies. 
The  elders  of  the  tribe  repeated  the  results  of 
their  experience,  the  orators  embraced  the  occa- 
sion to  win  new  trophies  of  applause,  and  while 
some  were  successful  in  these  ambitious  attempts, 
there  were  also  others  who 

"  In  that  unnavigable  stream  were  drowned." 

The  traders  were  consulted  in  reference  to  the 
supply  of  guns  and  ammunition ;  and  the  hunters 
made  their  contracts  individually,  in  accordance 
with  which  they  were  provided  with  rifles,  gun- 
powder, and  other  articles,  to  be  paid  for  in  furs 
and  peltry,  at  the  close  of  the  hunting  season. 
It  was  on  such  occasions,  that  Bolingbroke  had 


THE  NEW  MOON.  233 

heretofore  discovered  his  influence  to.  be  at  its 
greatest  height  among  his  savage  customers ;  who 
treated  his  suggestions  with  deference,  in  propor- 
tion to  the  amount  of  the  favours  which  they 
solicited  at  his  hands.  In  the  wilderness,  as  in 
the  marts  of  civilised  life,  people  are  never  so 
kind  to  each  other  as  at  the  moment  when  the 
relation  of  debtor  and  creditor  is  about  to  be 
created,  and  never  less  cordial  than  during  the 
existence  of  that  obligation.  Bolingbroke  had 
found  himself,  at  one  season,  worshipped  as  the 
idol  of  the  tribe,  and,  at  another,  feared  as  its 
master;  but,  by  being  alternately  an  indulgent 
creditor,  and  an  unassuming  friend,  had  retained 
its  confidence. .  It  was,  therefore,  with  no  small 
degree  of  chagrin  that  he  now  saw  his  business 
about  to  be  shared,  and  his  influence  divided,  with 
others.  His  convictions,  as  to  the  propriety  of 
entering  into  the  honourable  state  of  matrimony, 
became  greatly  strengthened  by  this  new  evidence 
of  the  evanescent  nature  of  his  own  popularity  ; 
and  his  love  for  the  New  Moon  increased  to  a 
steady  flame,  as  the  propitious  influence  which 
this  bright  star  might  exert  over  his  fortunes  be- 
came clearly  developed. 

The  councils  continued  to  be  held ;  and,  while 

the  chief  men  were   employed   in   maturing  the 

weighty  affairs  of  their  little  state,  every  leisure 

interval  was  filled  with  sport  and  feasting.     The 

20* 


234  THE  NEW  MOON. 

men  amused  themselves  with  various  pastimes, 
such  as  cards,  dancing,  foot-ball,  and  racing.  The 
younger  warriors  were  painted  with  more  than 
ordinary  care;  some  gave  themselves  up  to  the 
affairs  of  courtship  and  gallantry— others  did 
honour  to  the  chiefs  and  distinguished  braves,  by 
dancing  before  the  doors  of  their  respective  lodges 
— while  a  few,  ludicrously  appareled,  moved  about 
the  village,  exciting  laughter  by  the  performance 
of  coarse  feats  of  buffoonery.  The  criers  passed 
through  the  streets,  inviting  individuals  by  name, 
in  a  loud  voice,  to  feasts  given  by  their  friends, 
charging  them,  at  the  same  time,  to  be  careful  to 
bring  their  own  bowls  and  spoons;  and,  again, 
proclaiming  that  the  entertainments  were  over, 
praising  the  hospitality  of  the  several  hosts,  pub- 
lishing the  resolves  of  the  council,  and  admonish- 
ing the  people  to  hasten  their  preparations  for 
departure. 

At  length,  every  requisite  arrangement  being 
complete,  the  females,  to  whom  the  prospect  of 
such  a  journey  is  always  gratifying,  were  seen 
moving  rapidly  abqut,  assiduously  occupied  in 
loading  their  horses  with  such  moveables  as  were 
necessary  to  be  transported.  It  was  obvious  that 
they  felt  their  own  importance ;  their  active  mo- 
tions, busy  faces,  and  loud  talking,  evinced  that 
for  the  moment  they  had  broken  through  all  the 
salutary  restraints  of  discipline,  and  assumed  the 


THE  NEW  MOON.  235 

reins  of  government ;  and  they  even  ventured  to 
rate  their  husbands  severely,  for  real  or  supposed 
trespasses,  upon  what  they  considered  their  pecu- 
liar province — as  we  have  understood  the  ladies  of 
another  tribe,  which  shall  be  nameless,  are  accus- 
tomed to  do,  when  their  liege  lords  intrude  upon 
them  while  in  the  performance  of  any  household 
solemnities  which  they  regard  as  inviolate. 

The  march  of  the  tribe  from  the  village  pre- 
sented a  picturesque  and  beautiful  scene.  It  was 
a  bright  morning  in  June.  The  sun  was  just 
rising  over  the  rounded  bluffs,  and  throwing  his 
beams  obliquely  along  the  surface  of  the  turbid 
Missouri.  The  prairie  was  clad  in  its  richest 
apparel.  The  young  grass  covered  it  with  a 
thick  sward,  which  still  preserved  the  living 
freshness  and  beautiful  verdure  of  spring,  and 
flowers,  infinite  in  number,  as  diversified  in  hue, 
reared  their  heads  to  the  surface  of  the  grassy 
carpet,  and  seemed  to  repose  upon  it,  like  colours 
upon  the  canvass  of  the  painter.  The  whole  plain 
presented  a  series  of  graceful  swells  and  depres- 
sions, which,  at  this  early  hour  of  the  day,  re- 
ceived the  sunlight  under  such  a  variety  of  angles, 
as  to  afford  an  endless  diversity  of  light  and  shade; 
while  it  heightened  the  effect  of  the  perspective, 
by  throwing  up  a  few  points  into  prominent  relief, 
and  casting  others,  whose  features  were  as  dis- 
tinctly visible,  into  an  imaginary  back-ground. 


236  THE  NEW  MOON. 

As  the  cavalcade  commenced  its  march,  a  long 
train  of  warriors,  on  horseback,  were  beheld  issu- 
ing from  the  village,  arrayed  in  all  the  pomp,  and 
in  all  the  grave  dignity,  of  Indian  display.  Their 
faces  were  carefully  painted  in  the  best  style, 
some  gaily,  with  a  profusion  of  crimson,  others 
lowering  in  the  gloomy  ferocity  of  black,  while 
their  bodies  were  adorned  with  the  trapping  of 
savage  magnificence,  and  their  heads  arrayed  in 
feathers  of  a  variety  of  gaudy  hues.  They  were 
armed  with  the  numerous  implements  of  war  and 
hunting — with  guns,  bows,  war-clubs,  tomahawks, 
and  knives — and  mounted  upon  small  active  horses, 
with  vicious  eyes  and  untamed  spirits,  that  evinced 
submission  to  the  power  of  their  riders,  but  not 
affection  for  their  persons.  Some  rode  without 
stirrups,  some  on  saddles  richly  ornamented.  The 
bridles  of  many  were  decorated  with  gaudy  co- 
loured ribbon,  tape,  Or  tinsel,  or  with  bits  of  tin, 
or  pieces  of  dressed  deer  skin  cut  into  fringe,  or 
rolled  into  tassels;  and  many  had  adorned  the 
manes  and  tails  of  their  horses.  Although,  in  the 
appearance  of  some  of  these  native  warriors,  the 
grotesque  predominated,  while  extreme  poverty 
was  displayed  in  the  equipment  of  others,  there 
was  observable  in  each,  the  same  unconstrained 
air,  and  indescribable  wildness,  peculiar  to  this 
original  people;  and  there  were  a  few  warriors 
mounted  on  fine  horses,  well  clad,  completely 


THE  NEW  MOON.  237 

armed  and  appointed,  of  sedate  carriage,  and 
military  bearing,  and  whose  whole  conduct  bore 
the  decisive  stamp  of  dignity.  They  moved 
slowly  ;  but  here  and  there  might  be  seen  a  young 
brave  urging  his  hprse  rapidly  along  the  flank  of 
the  column,  or  seeking  to  attract  attention  by 
dashing  off  from  the  party,  across  the  plain,  at  full 
speed,  with  his  feet  pressed  in  his  courser's  sides, 
his  body  bent  forward,  his  buffalo  spear  poised,  as 
if  for  striking,  and  his  long  plume  of  feathers 
streaming  upon  the  wind.  Behind  the  main  body 
of  horsemen,  followed  the  squaws,  the  children, 
and  the  old  men,  a  few  of  whom  were  mounted  on 
lean  ponies,  but  the  greater  part  on  foot,  trudging 
soberly  along — except  the  younger  females,  who 
amused  themselves  with  jeering  any  of  the  junior 
warriors  who  happened  to  lag  behind  their  com- 
rades. Under  charge  of  this  body  of  non-combat- 
ants, was  a  train  of  pack-horses,  bearing  the  mats, 
skin  lodges,  and  other  rnoveables.  On  the  packs 
might  be  seen  many  a  little  urchin,  too  big  to  be 
carried  on  his  mother's  back,  yet  too  small  to 
walk,  who  enjoyed  the  high  privilege  of  being 
lashed  to  the  baggage,  and  treated  as  an  article 
of  furniture — where  he  sat  comfortably  enough, 
poking  out  his  dark  face  from  among  the  pack- 
ages, and  staring  with  his  little  wild  black  eyes, 
like  a  copper-headed  snake.  With  this  part  of 
the  cavalcade,  too,  were  the  dogs,  who,  when  not 


238  THE  NEW  MOON. 

abroad  on  duty  with  their  masters,  usually  seek 
the  society  of  the  ladies,  and  the  agreeable  atmo- 
sphere of  the  culinary  department.  Those  in  ques- 
tion were  particularly  given  to  these  lounging 
habits,  and  for  ever  stealing  after  the  flesh  pots, 
and  endeavouring  to  curry  favour  with  the  women. 
From  their  appearance,  one  would .  suppose  their 
company  not  to  have  been  desirable ;  for  the  In- 
dian's dog  is  a  lean,  hungry,  ferocious  animal,  who 
gets  more  kicks  than  favours,  and  who  sneaks 
about,  with  his  bushy  tail  drooped,  his  pointed 
ears  erect,  his  long  nose  thrust  forward,  and  his 
watchful  eye  gleaming  with  mischief  and  distrust. 
Resembling  the  wolf  in  appearance  and  manners, 
he  seems  to  be  obedient  from  fear  only,  and  to 
hare  little  in  common  with  the  generous  and  aflec- 
tionate  animal,  who  is  the  friend,  as  well  as  the  ser- 
vant, of  civilised  man,  and  of  whom  the  poet 
test i (ied?  when  he  said,  "  they  are  honest  crea- 
tures." 

On  leaving  the  village,  the  Indian  train  ascended 
a  long  gradual  swell,  until  they  reached  a  beauti- 
fully rounded  eminence,  that  commanded  an  ex- 
tensive view  of  the  prairie,  over  which  they  w.-iv, 
about  to  travel.  Nothing  could  be  more  striking 
than  this  wild  picture  of  native  luxuriance,  and 
aboriginal  pomp.  A  wide  expanse  of  scenery  was 
spread  before  the  eye.  The  interminable  plain 
seemed  to  extend  further  than  the  vision  could 


THE  NEW  MOON.  239 

reach ;  and  there  was  something  peculiarly  pic- 
turesque in  the  march  of  the  Omawhaws,  whose 
long  party-coloured  line  wound  and  undulated 
among  the  slopes  and  mounds  of  the  prairie, 
headed  by  armed  warriors,  and  flanked  by  young 
horsemen,  darting  off  from  the  main  body  to  show 
the  speed  of  their  horses,  and  displaying  their  own 
dexterity  by  a  variety  of  evolutions. 

When  the  party  reached  the  most  elevated  point 
of  the  plain,  it  halted,  and  a  glance  was  thrown 
back  towards  the  deserted  wigwams.  Not  a  living 
thing  moved  in  the  village,  whose  lowly  huts,  un- 
tenanted  and  still,  seemed  to  form  a  part  of  the 
natural  landscape.  Beyond  it  flowed  the  broad 
and  turbulent  Missouri,  and  further  towards  the 
east,  was  a  range  of  low,  pointed  hills,  whose 
sides  were  thinly  clothed  with  timber,  while  their 
bald  summits  were  covered  with  only  a  verdant 
carpet  of  grass.  The  newly  risen  sun  had  just 
appeared  beyond  these  hills,  lighting  up  their 
peaked  tops  with  the  full  effulgence  of  his  splen- 
dour, and  strongly  marking  the  characteristic 
horizon  of  this  peculiar  region  of  country.  Over 
this  scene  they  gazed  for  a  few  moments  with 
eomtion,  for  some  of  them  might  never  return  to 
the  wigwams  of  their  tribe,  and  those  who  should 
survive  might  find  their  fields  ravaged,  and  the 
graves  of  their  fathers  desecrated.  Even  an  In- 
dian loves  his  home;  Erratic  as  are  his  habits, 


240  THE  NEW  MOON. 

and  little  as  he  seems  to  understand  or  enjoy  do- 
mestic comfort,  he  acquires,  unconsciously,  an 
attachment  towards  the  spot  on  which  he  resides, 
and  a  reverence  for  the  associations  by  which  it  is 
surrounded.  There  are  dear  and  joyful  recollec- 
tions connected  with  the  fireside,  however  humble 
it  may  be;  and  the  turf  that  covers  the  remains 
of  departed  friends,  is  as  holy  in  the  eyes  of  the 
uneducated  savage,  who  has  never  been  taught  to 
analyse  the  operations  of  his  own  mind,  as  in  those 
of  the  person  of  refinement,  who  recognises  the 
good  taste  and  virtuous  feeling  of  this  natural  emo- 
tion of  the  heart. 

Bolingbroke  was  not  the  man  to  appreciate  an 
interesting  landscape,  or  to  sympathise  with  a  flow 
of  tender  feeling.  He  sat  on  his  horse,  apart  from 
the  others,  and  was  calculating  the  probable  advan- 
tages of  an  union  with  the  daughter  of  the  chief  of 
the  Omawhaws,  and  revolving  in  his  mind  the 
means  by  which  he  might  most  speedily  bring 
about  so  desirable  an  alliance,  when  the  Blackbird 
himself  rode  up  beside  him. 

"Is  the  Wise  Stranger  sorrowful  in  spirit," 
said  the  chief,  "  or  does  he  regret  that  the  Omaw- 
haws are  quitting  the  graves  of  their  fathers  ?" 

"Neither,"  replied  Bolingbroke;  "the  Great 
Spirit  has  not  thrown  any  cloud  over  the  heart 
of  his  white  son,  and  the  graves  that  we  are  leav- 
ing are  not  those  of  my  fathers." 


THE  NEW  MOON.  241 

"  Then  why  should  the  trader  of  the  white  people 
be  sad,  when  his  red  brethren  are  going  to  hunt 
on  the  plains  where  the  buffaloes  feed  ?" 

"I  am  thinking  of  something  that  I  had  for- 
gotten." 

"Has  the  Master  of  life  told  my  friend  in  a 
dream,  that  he  has  failed  to  do  something  which 
he  ought  to  have  done  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  father ;  even  thus  has  the  Master  of 
life  whispered  to  my  heart,  while  my  eyes  were 
sleeping.  I  have  seen  my  fault.  But  I  feel  com- 
forted by  the  reflection  that  the  great  chief  of  the 
Omawhaws  is  my  friend." 

The  chief  directed  a  calm  though  penetrating 
glance  of  enquiry  towards  his  companion,  but  the 
countenance  of  the  trader  betrayed  no  emotion. 
It  was  evident  the  offence  was  not  one  of  deep  dye. 
His  eye  wandered  back  to  the  cavalcade,  and  rested 
proudly  on  the  warrior  train.  The  young  trader 
resumed : 

"  My  father  has  always  been  kind  to  the  white 
stranger." 

"  The  pale  face  has  reason  to  believe  that  the 
Blackbird  is  his  friend,"  replied  the  chief. 

"I  have   endeavoured   to   convince   the   great 
chief  that  I  desire  to  serve  him.     I  have  no  other 
pleasure  than  to  make  the  Omawhaws  happy,  by 
supplying  their  wants." 
21 


242  THE  NEW  MOON. 

"The  white  man  has  done  his  duty — I  am 
satisfied." 

Here  a  pause  ensued,  and  these  well-matched 
politicians  gazed  along  the  line,  which  was  now 
beginning  to  be  again  set  in  motion— each  endea- 
vouring stealthily  to  catch  a  glance  at  the  counte- 
nance of  the  other.  The  young  merchant  was  the 
first  to  renew  the  conversation. 

"  In  making  my  presents  to  the  chiefs,"  he  said, 
"I  endeavoured  to  distinguish  those  who  Kflm 
most  worthy,  and  who  stood  highest  in  the  estima- 
tion of  the  Omawhaws,  by  the  value  of  the  gifts 
which  I  made  them.  But  I  fear  that  I  did  not 
sufficiently  recollect  the  high  claims  of  the  Black- 
bird, who  is  elevated  above  all  others  by  his 
wisdom,  his  many  victories,  and  his  friendship 
for  the  white  people.  I  am  a  young  man,  and  the 
Great  Spirit  has  not  been  pleased  to  give  me  that 
wisdom  which  he  reserves  for  great  chiefs,  whose 
business  is  to  govern  tribes." 

As  he  said  this,  he  drew  from  his  bosom  an  ele- 
gantly mounted  dirk,  a  favourite  ornament  and 
weapon  of  the  Indian. 

"  Will  the  head  man  of  the  Omawhaws,"  con- 
tinued he,  presenting  it,  "  accept  this  as  a  small 
part  of  the  atonement  which  my  negligence  im- 
poses on  me;  and  depend  upon  my  word,  that,  in 
future,  I  shall  not  forget  the  distance  between  a 
great  chief  and  his  inferiors  ?" 


THE  NEW  MOON.  243 

"The  white  stranger  has  been  very  properly 
called  wise,"  said  the  chief,  "  and  the  head  man 
of  the  Omawhaws  knows  how  to  value  his  friends. 
I  have  looked  back  at  our  path ; — it  is  all  white — 
there  is  no  cloud  there.  The  white  trader  may 
know  hereafter  that  the  Blackbird  is  his  friend." 

Thus  saying,  he  eyed  the  beautiful  weapon 
which  he  had  received  with  complacency,  drew  it, 
and  examined  the  blade — passing  his  eye  along  it 
with  the  keen  scrutiny  of  one  intimately  versed  in 
the  mechanism  and  use  of  military  implements; 
then,  having  arranged  it  in  the  most  conspicuous 
manner  upon  his  person,  he  rode  away,  muttering 
to  himself,  "  What  does  the  trader  want  in  return 
for  so  fine  a  present  ?"  He  did  not  dream  that 
Bolingbroke  wanted  his  daughter. 

In  a  few  days  they  arrived  at  the  pastures  of  the 
buffalo,  and  beheld  the  plains  covered  with  herds 
of  wild  cattle.  The  animating  scenes  of  the  hunt 
Commenced.  Parties  of  hunters,  mounted  upon 
fleet  horses  well  trained  to  this  sport,  dashed  in 
among  the  grazing  herds.  At  their  approach  the 
buffaloes  fled  in  alarm ;  the  hunters  pursued  at  full 
speed,  each  horseman  selecting  his  victim.  The 
swiftness  of  the  horse  soon  outstripped  the  speed 
of  the  buffalo,  and  placed  the  hunter  by  the  side  of 
his  noble  game  ;  when,  dropping  the  bridle,  while 
his  trained  steed  continued  to  bear  him  gallantly 
along,  side  by  side,  with  the  buffalo,  he  discharged 


244  THE  NEW  MOON. 

his  arrows  into  the  panting  animal,  until  it  fell 
mortally  wounded.     Then  the  hunter,  quitting  his 
dashed  again  into  the  affrighted  herd  to  select 
another. 

It  was  an  inspiring  sight  to  behold  the  wide 
plain, — an  immense  meadow,  studded  with  orna- 
mental groves, — covered  with  numerous  herds, 
quietly  grazing  like  droves  of  domestic  cattle  : 
then  to  see  the  Omawhaw  bands,  under  the  cover 
of  some  copse  or  swelling  ground,  covertly  ap- 
proaching from  the  leeward,  so  that  the  timid 
animals  might  not  scent  their  approach  in  the 
tainted  breeze;  and,  at  last,  to  view  the  confusion 
occasioned  by  their  sudden  onset.  On  discovering 
their  enemies,  the  alarmed  herd,  following  its  lead- 
ers, would  attempt  to  move  away  rapidly  in  a  solid 
phalanx ;  but  the  hunters,  penetrating  boldly  into 
the  heart  of  the  retreating  body,  dispersed  it  in 
'•uTy  direction — and  the  maddened  animals  were 
seen  flying  towards  all  points  of  the  compass,  folf 
lowed  by  the  fierce  wild  hpnters.  The  viei  — i- 
tudes  of  the  chase  were  numerous  and  diversified. 
Sometimes  a  horse  fell,  and  the  prostrate  rider  was 
saluted  with  loud  shouts  of  derision ;  sometimes  a 
large  bull  turned  suddenly  upon  his  pursuer,  and 
burying  his  horns  deep  in  the  flanks  of  the  steed, 
burled  him  upon  the  plain ;  and  more  than  once 
the  hunter,  thus  thrown,  with  difficulty  escaped 
being  trodden  to  death  by  the  furious  herd. 


THE  NEW  MOON.  245 

Bolingbroke  engaged  with  ardour  in  this  sport. 
He  was  a  skilful  and  daring  horseman ;  and  though 
at  first  awkward,  from  his  ignorance  of  the  artifices 
of  the  chase,  he  soon  became  sufficiently  expert  to 
be  considered  as  an  useful  auxiliary  by  his  compa- 
nions. The  warriors  began  to  treat  him  with 
increased  respect;  and  even  the  squaws,  whose 
favour  he  had  heretofore  conciliated  by  timely 
presents,  looked  upon  him  with  more  complacen- 
cy, after  witnessing  these  displays  of  his  activity 
and  courage. 

A  daring  horseman  gallops  rapidly  into  a  lady's 
affections.     The  sex  admire  intrepidity,  and  give 
their  suffrages  decidedly  in  favour  of  a  dashing 
fellow   who    combines   boldness   with   grace   and 
skill.     Bolingbroke  found  favour  in  the  eyes  of 
the  New  Moon ;  and,  though  she  carefully  con- 
cealed her  sentiments  in  her  own  bosom,  he  soon 
ceased  to  be  an  object  of  indifference.     He  was 
her  father's  friend,  and  she  began  to  discover  that 
it  was  her  duty  to  admire  his  exploits  and  approve 
his  conduct.     One  day,  as  he  was   returning  to 
camp  alone  from  a  successful  hunt,  he  overtook 
the  fair  Menae,  who  was  also  separated  accident- 
ally from  the  company.     It  was  an  opportunity  too 
favourable  to  be  lost.     As  he  joined  her  she  threw 
her  eyes  upon  the  ground,  and  walked  silently  for- 
ward.    He  dismounted,  and  throwing  his  bridle 
21* 


246  THE  NEW  MOON. 

over  his  arm,  placed  himself  at  the  side  of  the 
Omawhaw  beauty. 

How  awkward  it  is  to  begin  a  conversation  under 
such  circumstances !  Among  us,  a  remark  on  the 
weather  would  have  furnished  a  theme  for  the 
lovers  to  begin  upon ;  but  these  meteorological 
discussions  were  not  fashionable  at  the  Omawhaw 
village.  One  of  Miss  Edgeworth's  heroes  pulled 
a  flower  to  pieces,  on  a  similar  occasion,  before  he 
could  open  his  mouth ;  but  Bolingbroke  was  a  man 
of  business,  and  came  at  once  to  the  point. 

"The  daughter  of  Blackbird  looks  upon  the 
ground,"  said  he  ;  "  she  does  not  seem  pleased  to 
see  the  white  friend  of  her  father." 

"  The  white  stranger  is  glad  because  he  has  had 
a  good  hunt,"  replied  the  maiden,  "and  others 
seem  to  him  to  be  sad,  because  they  are  not  so 
jnyful  as  himself." 

"  When  I  look  at  the  New  Moon,"  rejoined  the 
lover,  "  my  heart  is  always  filled  with  gladness, 
for  she  is  very  beautiful." 

"  I  have  often  heard,"  replied  Menae, "that  the 
white  men  have  forked  tongues,  and  do  not  mean 
what  they  say." 

"  Others  may  have  lying  lips,  but  mine  are 
true.  1  have  never  deceived  the  Omawhaws.  I 
speak  truth,  when  I  say  that  I  love  the  beautiful 
Menae,  for  she  is  handsomer  than  all  the  other 
daughters  of  her  tribe.  If  she  will  be  my  wife,  I 


THE  NEW  MOON.  247 

will  build  a  wigwam  in  the  village  of  the  Omaw- 
haws,  and  quit  for  ever  the  graves  of  my  fathers, 
and  the  council  fires  of  the  white  people." 

"  The  wise  stranger  would  send  a  cloud  over 
his  father's  house.  How  many  of  the  girls  of  the 
pale  faces  are  looking  up  the  great  river,  to  see 
him  return,  as  he  promised  them  ?"  enquired  she, 
archly. 

"  Not  one  !  not  one  !  You  are  the  only  woman 
I  h#ve  ever  loved — I  will  never  love  another. 
Become  my  wife,  and  I  promise  you,  here  in 
the  presence  of  the  Master  of  life,  that  1  will  never 
seek  the  love  of  any  other.  Menae  shall  be  the 
sole  companion,  and  dearest  friend,  of  my  life." 

"  I  am  the  daughter  of  a  great  chief,"  replied 
the  Indian  maid. 

"  Ah*!  I  understand  you — you  are  too  proud  to 
marry  one  who  is  not  of  your  nation." 

"  The  roaring  of  the  buffalo  has  made  the  ear 
of  the  white  hunter  dull.  I  am  the  daughter  of!  a 
chief,  and  I  may  not  give  myself  away." 

"  Lovely  Menae  !"  exclaimed  the  youth,  as  he 
attempted  to  seize  her  hand ;  but  she  quietly 
folded  her  arms,  and  looked  at  him  with  compo- 
sure, assuming  a  dignity  which  effectually  repelled 
any  further  advance.  She  then  addressed  him 
with  a  touching  softness  of  voice. 

"  There  is  a  path  to  my  heart  which  is  right ; 
it  is  a  straight  path."  She  paused  ;  but  her  eye, 


248  THE  NEW  MOON. 

which  beamed  softly  upon  her  lover,  expressed  all 
that  he  could  have  \\ished.  She  added,  "  If  the 
white  trader  is  wise,  as  men  say  he  is,  he  will  not 
attempt  to  gain  a  young  maiden's  affections  by 
any  crooked  way." 

So  saying,  she  walked  quietly  away,  while  the 
politic  trader,  who  understood  her  meaning,  re- 
spectfnlly  withdrew,  satisfied  that  the  lady  w^uld 
nit«  i  pose  no  objection  to  his  suit,  if  the  consent  of 
a  higher  authority  could  be  secured. 

Having  taken  his  resolution,  he  proceeded  to 
the  lodge  of  the  Blackbird,  and  endeavoured  to 
conciliate  the  favour  of  both  the  parents  of  Menae 
by  liberal  presents.  He  adverted  artfully  to  the 
advantages  which  would  accrue  to  both  parties  by 
an  alliance  between  the  chief  and  himself,  avowed 
his  love  for  their  daughter,  and  his  decided  ui.-li 
to  marry  one  of  the  Omawhaw  tribe.  He  pro- 
mised, if  they  would  transfer  their  daughter  to 
him  in  marriage,  to  treat  her  kindly,  and  to  intro- 
duce no  other  wife  into  his  lodge.  He  suggested 
that  he  had  now  established  a  permanent  trading 
house  at  their  village,  where  he  should  reside 
during  the  greater  part  of  the  year,  and  where  he 
would  be  fully  able  to  protect  and  support,  both 
his  proposed  wife,  and  her  kindred,  if  necessary. 
In  return,  he  hoped  the  nation  would  give  him  the 
preference  in  their  trade,  and  consider  him  as  one 
allied  to  them  in  affection  and  interest. 


THE  NEW  MOON.  249 

To  this  very  business  like  harangue,  which  was 
sufficiently  sentimental  for  the  ears  to  which  it 
was  addressed,  the  parents  made  a  suitable  reply. 
They  thanked  him  for  his  liberal  offers,  and  were 
gratified  that  he  had  taken  pity  on  their  daughter ; 
they  would  not  object  to  the  connection,  and  hoped 
their  daughter  would  accept  him.  The  mother 
added  that  Menae  was  stronger  than  she  looked, 
and  could  carry  a  great  many  skins ;  and,  though 
she  was  not  very  expert  in  tending  corn,  she  was 
young  enough  to  learn.  The  chief  gave  him  the 
comfortable  assurance  that  it  was  quite  indifferent 
to  them  how  many  wives  he  might  choose  to  have, 
provided  he  could  support  and  govern  them — for 
his  part,  he  had  had  his  own  trouble  with  one; 
but  he  commended  the  prudence  of  his  young 
friend  in  confining  himself  to  a  single  squaw  for 
the  -present,  until  he  should  become  experienced 
in  the  inequalities  of  the  female  temper,  and 
have  learned  the  difficult  art  of  ruling  a  house- 
hold. 

The  parents  retired,  and  opened  the  subject  to 
their  daughter,  to  whom  they  magnified  the  ad- 
vantages of  the  proposed  alliance,  with  one  who 
was,  in  their  opinion,  a  greater  man  than  any  of 
the  Omawhaws.  His  wealth  exceeded  that  of  all 
the  tribe  ;  his  store  of  guns,  ammunition,  trinkets, 
and  clothing,  seemed  to  be  inexhaustible ;  and 
they  earnestly  requested  her  to  secure  her  own 


250  THE  NEW  MOON. 

happiness,  and  advance  the  interests  of  her  family, 
by  accepting  an  offer  so  tempting. 

The  New  Moon,  though  delighted  with  her  con- 
quest, thought  it  proper,  as  young  ladies  are  apt  to 
think,  on  such  occasions,  to  support  her  dignity  by 
;ill«  <  ting  some  reluctance.  In  the  first  place,  the 
gentleman's  complexion  was  against  him,  and  she 
would  have  iriven  any  thing — except  himself — if  it 
had  been  a  shade  or  two  darker.  Then  his  taste 
in  dress  was  by  no  means  such  as  accorded  with 
her  ideas  of  manly  beauty;  and  she  regretted  that 
he  did  not  paint  his  handsome  face,  decorate  his 
hair  with  the  feathers  of  the  eagle,  ornament  his 
nasal  protuberance  with  rings,  and  cover  his 
shoulders  with  the  ample  folds  of  a  Makinaw 
blanket.  Above  all,  he  had  never  struck  an 
enemy  in  battle ;  not  a  single  scalp  attested  his 
prowess  as  a  warrior ;  and  although  he  managed 
a  horse  with  skill,  and  had  wielded  the  rifle  suc- 
cessfully in  the  chase,  he  was  as  ignorant  as  a 
woman  of  the  use  of  a  tomahawk,  or  a  scalping 
knife.  Notwithstanding  all  this,  she  admitted 
that  the  white  trader  wa>  wi-e — he  was  young, 
had  a  good  eye,  and  a  stout  arm,  and  might,  in 
time,  with  proper  tuition,  become  worthy  to  be 
ranked  among  the  head  men  of  the  Omawhaws. 
Upon  the  whole,  she  expressed  her  own  unworthi- 
ness,  her  ignorance  of  what  would  be  right  on 
such  an  occasion,  her  willingness  to  obey  the 


THE  NEW  MOON.  251 

wishes  of  her  parents,  and  to  advance  the  interests 
of  her  nation  ;  and  as  it  seemed  to  be  their  desire, 
and  her  duty,  she  would  marry  the  trader. 

They  were  united  accordingly,  and  the  beautiful 
Menae  entered  upon  a  new  existence.  Marriage 
always  affects  a  decided  change  upon  the  senti- 
ments of  those,  who  come  within  its  sacred  pale 
under  a  proper  sense  of  the  responsibilities  of  the 
married  state.  However  delightful  the  intercourse 
of  wedded  hearts,  there  is,  to  a  well-regulated 
mind,  something  extremely  solemn  in  the  duties 
imposed  by  this  interesting  relation.  The  reflec- 
tion that  an  existence  which  was  separate  and  in- 
dependent is  ended,  and  that  all  its  hopes  and 
interests  are  blended  with  those  of  another  soul,  is 
deeply  affecting,  as  it  imposes  the  conviction  that 
every  act  which  shall  influence  the  happiness  of 
the  one,  will  colour  the  destiny  of  the  other.  But 
when  the  union  is  that  of  love,  this  feeling  of  de- 
pendence is  one  of  the  most  delightful  that  can  be 
imagined.  It  annihilates  the  habit  of  selfish  en- 
joyment, and  teaches  the  heart  to  delight  in  that 
which  gives  pleasure  to  another.  The  affections 
become  gradually  enlarged,  expanding  as  the  ties 
of  relationship,  and  the  duties  of  life  accumulate 
around,  until  the  individual,  ceasing  to  know  an 
isolated  existence,  lives  entirely  for  others,  and  for 
society. 

But  it  is  the  generous  and  the  virtuous  alone, 


252  THE  NEW  MOON. 

who  thus  enjoy  this  agreeable  relation.  Some 
hearts  there  are,  too  callous  to  give  nurture  to  a 
delicate  sentiment.  There  are  minds  too  narrow 
to  give  play  to  an  expansive  benevolence.  A  cer- 
tain degree  of  magnanimity  is  necessary  to  the 
existence  of  disinterested  love,  or  friendship. 

The  beautiful  Menae  was  of  a  noble  generous 
nature.  She  had  never  been  selfish,  and  now  that 
her  affections  had  an  object  on  which  to  concen- 
trate their  warmth,  her  heart  glowed  with  disin- 
rd  emotion.  With  a  native  ingenuousness 
of  soul,  that  had  always  induced  her,  even  without 
reflection,  to  consult  the  happiness  of  others  fn 
preference  to  her  own,  she  had  now  an  object 
whose  interests  were  so  dear,  that  it  was  as  de- 
lightful, as  it  was  natural,  to  sacrifice  to  them  all 
her  own  inclinations.  From  the  moment  of  her 
marriage,  she  began  to  adapt  her  conduct  to  the 
f  her  husband.  She  adopted  his  opinions, 
imitated  his  manners,  and  gradually  exchanged 
the  ornaments  of  her  tribe  for  those  which  accord- 
ed better  with  hi>  fancy.  It  cost  her  not  a  pang, 
nor  a  regret,  to  throw  aside  tho  costume  which 
she  had  considered  graceful,  and  had  worn  with 
pride  in  the  meridian  of  her  beauty,  and  to  invest 
her  charms  in  a  foreign  drapery,  which  was  far 
less  becoming  in  her  own  eyes.  Whatever  her 
husband  admired,  became  graceful  in  her  estima- 
tion ;  and  that  which  rendered  her  attractive  to 


THE  NEW  MOON.  253 

him,  she  wore  with  more  than  youthful  delight. 
A  similar  change  took  place  in  her  domestic 
arrangements.  Instead  of  the  rude  wigwam  of 
the  Indian,  Bolingbroke  had  built  a  small  but 
neat  cottage,  and  had  furnished  it  with  some  of 
the  comforts,  though  few  of  the  luxuries,  of  his 
country,  and  his  wife  eagerly  endeavoured  to 
gratify  his  wishes,  by  adapting  herself!  to  his 
habits  of  living.  She  learned  to  sk  upon  a  chair, 
to  eat  from  a  table,  and  to  treat  her  husband  as  a 
companion  rather  than  as  a  master.  Hour  after 
hour  did  she  listen  attentively  to  his  descriptions  of 
the  habits  of  his  countrywomen,  and  carefully  did 
she  treasure  up  in  her  memory  every  hint  which 
might  serve  as  a  guide  in  her  endeavour  to  render 
her  own  deportment  pleasing  to  him  to  whom  she 
had*  given  an  unreserved  affection.  From  him 
she  had  learned  to  attach  a  name,  and  an  endear- 
ing value,  to  the  spot  which  he  called  his  home  ; 
and,  for  his  sake,  she  sought  to  throw  every  en- 
chantment around  the  scene  of  their  domestic 
enjoyments.  With  all  that  wonderful  facility  with 
which  the  female  heart,  when  stimulated  by  the 
desire  of  pleasing,  can  mould  itself  to  the  wishes  of 
another,  she  caught  his  opinions,  and  learned  to 
understand  his  tastes — entwining  her  owa  exist- 
ence around  his,  as  the  ivy  clings  to  the  oak. 
Her  cottage  soon  became  conspicuous  for  its  neat- 
ness and  beauty.  She  transplanted  the  wild  rose 
22 


254  THE  NEW  MOON. 

and  the  honeysuckle,  from  the  woods,  and  trained 
thorn  over  her  door,  in  imitation  of  the  bowers 
that  he  had  described  to  her.  Her  table  was 
spread  with  the  dainties  which  he  had  taught  her 
to  prepare,  her  furniture  arranged  in  the  order 
which  he  dictated,  and  all  her  household  duties 
directed  with  the  nicest  regard  to  his  feelings  or 
prejudices. 

And  had  she  no  prejudices  to  be  respected — no 
habits  to  be  indulged — no  wishes  to  be  gratified  ? 
None.  She  loved  with  the  pure  devotion  of  a 
generous  woman.  She  had  a  heart  which  could 
sacrifice  every  selfish  wish  upon  the  altar  of  affec- 
tion— a  mind  so  resolute  in  the  performance  of 
duty,  that  it  could  magnanimously  stifle 
desire  that  ran  counter  to  its  own  high  standard 
of  rectitude.  She  possessed  talent  and  feeliifg — 
and  to  those  ideas  of  implicit  obedience,  and  pro- 
found respect  for  her  husband,  which  constitute 
nearly  the  whole  code  of  ethics  of  an  Indian  fe- 
male, she  added  a  nice  perception  of  propriety, 
and  a  tenderness  that  filled  her  whole  heart.  She 
had  no  reserved  rights.  She  was  too  generous  to 
give  a  divided  affection.  In  giving  herself  to  her 
husband  she  severed  all  other  ties,  and  merged 
her  whole  existence  in  his — and  the  language  of 
her  heart  was,  "  thy  people  shall  be  my  people, 
and  thy  God  my  God."  Such  is  the  hallowed 
principle  of  woman's  love — such  the  pure  senti- 


THE  NEW  MOON.  255 

ment,  the  deep  devotion,  the  high-minded  elevation 
of  that  passion,  when  sanctioned  by  duty,  in  the 
bosom  of  a  well-principled  and  delicate  female  ! 

The  New  Moon  of  the  Omawhaws  was  a  proud 
and  happy  wife.  Her  young  affections  reposed 
sweetly  in  the  luxury  of  a  blameless  attachment. 
She  had  married  the  man  of  her  choice,  who  had 
freely  selected  her  from  all  her  tribe.  That  man 
was  greater  than  those  around  him,  and,  in  her 
eyes,  superior  to  most  of  his  sex.  He  had  distin- 
guished and  honoured  her.  He  had  taken  her  to 
his  bosom,  given  her  his  confidence,  surrounded 
her  with  luxuries  and  marks  of  kindness. 

Yet  there  were  some  thorns  in  her  path ;  and, 
in  the  midst  of  all  the  brightness  of  her  sunniest 
days,  her  dream  of  bliss  was  sometimes  chilled  by 
clouds  that  threw  their  dim  shadows  over  it.  Al- 
most unconsciously  to  herself  a  sadness  would  rest 
for  a  moment  upon  her  heart,  and  fly  before  she 
had  time  to  enquire  whence  it  came.  There  was 
a  dark  spot  in  her  destiny,  of  the  existence  of 
which  she  was  scarcely  sensible,*  because  she 
turned  her  eyes  away  from  it  in  fear  or  in  pride. 
A  chill  sometimes  crept  over  her  heart,  but,  with- 
out waiting  to  enquire  into  its  cause,  she  chased  it 
away,  gazed  again  upon  the  bright  vision  of  her 
wedded  joy,  and  forgot  that  an  unpleasant  image 
had  been  present.  Was  it  the  occasional  coldness 
of  Bolingbroke,  who,  immersed  in  the  cares  of 


456  THE  NEW  MOON. 

bu-iiicss,  or  abstracted  in  the  anticipations  of  a 
future  affluence,  received  the  endearments  of  his 
\\it  with  indifference?  Or  was  it  the  estranged 
deportment  of  her  tribe,  who  began  to  regard  her 
as  an  alien  ?  She  knew  not — she  never  permitted 
herself  to  doubt  the  love  of  her  husband,  and  she 
prized  the  afiection  of  others  too  little,  to  enquire 
into  the  ebb  and  flow  of  its  tide. 

The  time,  however,  arrived  when  Menae  began 
to  discover  that  she  had  a  difficult  task  to  perform. 
Her  husband  was  a  trader,  bent  on  the  accumula- 
tion of  wealth  by  catching  every  gale  of  fortune 
that  might  chance  to  blow — her  relatives,  and 
those  by  whom  she  was  surrounded,  were  fierce 
and  crafty  savages,  ignorant  of  the  principles  of 
justice,  and  destitute  of  any  fixed  standard  of  moral 
right.  His  interests  and  theirs  were  often  op- 
posed ;  and  while  he  was  always  prepared  to  reap 
the  spoil  of  their  labours,  they  were  as  ready  to 
crush  or  to  plunder  him  whenever  he  happened  to 
cross  their  purposes,  or  to  awaken  their  suspicion. 
His  popularity  rose  and  fell  with  the  changes  of 
the  season.  A  new  supply  of  goods  rendered  him 
the  idol  of  the  tribe — an  exhausted  stock  exposed 
him  to  insult  and  injustice.  Previous  to  the  annual 
hunt,  or  to  a  warlike  expedition,  he  was  flattered 
and  obeyed  by  those  improvident  warriors,  who, 
having  made  no  preparations  for  such  an  occasion, 
were  dependent  upon  him  for  the  outfit  which  was 


THE  NEW  MOON.  257 

necessary  to  enable  them  to  take  the  field;  but 
when  the  spoils  of  the  chase  or  of  battle  came  to 
be  divided,  and  the  largest  portion  was  claimed  by 
the  trader  in  payment  of  his  debts,  he  became  for 
the  moment  an  object  of  hatred — and  it  required 
all  the  power  of  the  chiefs,  and  all  the  cunning  of 
his  own  politic  brain,  to  secure  him  from  their 
vengeance.  On  such  occasions  he  found  his  wife 
an  invaluable  counsellor,  and  an  efficient  friend. 
Her  influence  with  the  tribe  was  by  no  means 
contemptible.  Her  own  popularity,  and  her  ready 
access  to  the  ear  of  her  father,  whom  all  others 
feared  to  approach,  gave  her  a  degree  of  authority 
among  the  warriors,  which  she  seldom  used,  and 
never  exerted  in  vain. 

But  her  influence  was  gradually  diminishing. 
As  Bolingbroke  grew  rich  he  became  more  and 
more  rapacious.  The  other  traders  were  practis- 
ing every  popular  art  to  recommend  themselves, 
to  destroy  him,  and  to  rise  upon  the  ruins  of  his 
prosperity ;  and  his  vigilant  wife  had  more  than 
once  protected  his  life  and  property,  by  discovering 
the  designs  of  his  enemies,  and  secretly  appealing 
to  her  father  for  protection.  These  things,  how- 
ever, did  not  disturb  her  peace.  Vigilant  by 
nature — accustomed  to  danger  from  childhood, 
and  inured  to  all  the  vicissitudes  of  the  savage 
mode  of  life — she  could  watch  with  composure 
over  a  husband's  safety,  and  expose  her  own  exist- 
22* 


258  THE  NEW  MOON. 

encc  without  fear.  Perhaps,  to  one  of  her  habits, 
\citement  of  such  a  life  was  agreeable;  and 
she  certainK  felt  a  pride  in  becoming  thus  im- 
portant to  him  who  was  the  sole  object  of  her  love. 

But  while  she  despised  the  machinations  of  her 
husband's  foes,  with  all  the  disdain  of  a  proud 
woman,  it  was  not  without  uneasiness  that  she 
discovered  a  sensible  diminution  in  the  cordiality 
of  her  own  friends.  She  had  married  one  who 
was  an  alien  to  her  tribe,  and  such  marriages 
aluavs  produce  estrangement.  They  saw  her 
abandoning  the  customs  of  her  country,  and  throw- 
ing aside  the  dress  of  her  people.  She  mingled 
but  little  with  the  women  of  the  Omawhaws;  and 
while  she  tacitly  condemned  some  of  their  prac- 
tices by  her  own  deportment,  she  withdrew  her 
sanction  from  some  of  their  ancient  rites  by  her 
absence.  Her  improvements  in  domestic  economy 
were  regarded  with  ridicule  and  jealousy.  The 
young  warriors  no  longer  regarded  her  with  pride 
as  the  beauty  of  their  nation,  but  considered  her 
as  one  who  had  apostatised  from  the  customs  of 
her  fathers,  and  degraded  herself  by  linking  her 
destiny  with  that  of  a  stranger  from  a  foreign 
land.  She  felt  that  she,  who  had  been  the  idol  of 
the  tribe,  was  <u>tained  by  the  wealth  of  her  hus- 
band and  the  power  of  her  father,  and  not  by  the 
aiicction  of  those  around  her. 

It  was  the  custom  of  Bolingbroke  to  descend 


THE  NEW  MOON.  259 

the  river  annually  to  St.  Louis,  for  the  purpose  of 
renewing  his  stock  of  merchandise — and  he  had 
been  married  but  a  few  months  when  the  first 
absence  of  this  kind  occurred.  On  his  return,  his 
young  wife  received  him  with  the  utmost  tender- 
ness. He  was  charmed  to  hear  of  the  discretion 
with  which  she  had  conducted  herself  in  his  ab- 
sence, and  to  perceive  the  many  evidences  of  the 
manner  in  which  she  had  spent  her  time.  He 
learned  that  she  had  lived  a  retired  life,  engaging 
in  none  of  the  public  festivals,  and  receiving  few 
visiters  at  her  house.  She  had  laboured  inces- 
santly in  decorating  their  dwelling,  or  in  fabricat- 
ing such  articles  of  dress  for  her  husband  as  she 
thought  would  please  his  fancy;  while  she  had 
noticed  with  careful  attention  the  movements  of 
the  tribe,  and  gathered  up  every  rumour,  the 
intelligence  of  which  might  be  useful  to  him  in 
his  mercantile  concerns. 

Another  year  came,  and  again  he  left  her.  His 
absence  was  protracted  during  several  months, 
and  within  this  period  she  became  the  mother 
of  a  daughter,  which  she  nursed^with  the  fondest 
solicitude.  Her  love  for  Irer  husband,  and  her 
anxiety  for  his  return,  seemed  to  increase  after 
this  event.  With  her  infant  in  her  arms,  she 
wandered  out  daily  to  a  secluded  spot  on  the  bank 
of  the  river,  where  she  would  sit  for  hours,  fol- 
lowing the  downward  course  of  the  river  with 


260  THE  NEW  MOON. 

eager  eyes  to  gain  the  earliest  notice  of  his  ap- 
proach. Estimating  his  feelings  by  her  own,  shu 
was  impatient  for  l\\v  moment  when  she  could 
place  the  interesting  stranger  in  his  arms,  and 
in  ii:i/<-  uith  delight  at  that  beautiful  minia- 
ture in  which  each  might  see  the  features  of  the 
nth<  r.  Nor  was  she  disappointed.  Bolingbroke 
caressed  his  child  with  fondness,  and  she  was  the 
happiest  of  mothers — the  proudest  of  wives, 

\\ «  must  touch  briefly  upon  the  subsequent 
event-  <>i  this  narrative.  Another  and  another 
year  rolled  away,  and  Menae  was  still  the  devoted 
\\itr.  while  Bolingbroke  was  become  a  cold, 
though  a  civil,  husband  :  he  bending  all  his  ener- 
gies to  the  acquisition  of  wealth,  she  bringing  in 
her  diurnal  tribute  of  love,  and  living  only  to 
promote  his  happiness.  They  had  now  two  chil- 
dren, and  when  the  time  approached  for  his  annual 
vi>it  to  the  settlements  of  the  white  people,  he 
proposed  to  carry  the  eldest  with  him.  The  wife, 
always  obedient,  reluctantly  consented,  and  com- 
manded her  feelings  so  far,  as  to  behold  their 
departure  in  nvite,  suppressed  affliction.  But, 
although  one  charge  remained,  upon  which  she 
might  lavish  her  caresses,  no  sooner  had  her  hus- 
band commenced  his  voyage,  than  her  maternal 
fondness  overpowered  her,  and  she  ran  screaming 
along  the  shore  of  the  river,  in  pursuit  of  the  boat, 
tearing  out  her  long  glossy  tresses,  and  appearing 


THE  NEW  MOON.  261 

almost  bereft  of  reason.  Unable  to  overtake  the 
boat,  she  returned  disconsolate,  and  assumed  the 
deepest  mourning  which  the  customs  of  her  tribe 
impose  on  the  state  of  widowhood.  She  cut  off 
her  beautiful  raven  locks,  gave  away  her  orna- 
ments, and  every  thing  that  she  had  worn  in  her 
day  of  pride,  and  clothed  herself  in  humble  attire. 
Confining  herself  to  her  own  dwelling,  she  refused 
the  visits  of  her  friends,  and  repelled  their  offers  of 
consolation.  She  said  that  she  well  knew  that  her 
daughter  would  be  better  treated  among  the  whites, 
than  she  could  be  at  home,  but  she  could  not  avoid 
regarding  her  own  situation  to  be  the  same  as  if 
the  Wahcondah  had  taken  away  her  offspring  for 
ever. 

By  degrees  her  remaining  child  began  to  absorb 
the  entire  current  of  her  affections,  and,  on  his  ac- 
count, she  resumed  the  performance  of  her  house- 
hold duties,  though  she  would  not  throw  aside  her 
mourning.  One  day,  she  had  gone  in  company 
with  some  other  females  to  the  corn-fields,  adjoin- 
ing the  village,  and  was  engaged  in  agricultural 
labours,  her  infant  boy  being  secured,  after  the 
Indian  fashion,  to  a  board,  which  she  had  carefully 
leaned  against  a  tree.  They  were  discovered  by  a 
lurking  war-party  of  Sioux,  who  rushed  upon  them 
suddenly,  in  the  expectation  of  gratifying  their 
vengeance  by  the  massacre  of  the  whole  party. 
An  exclamation  of  terror,  uttered  by  one  of  the 


THE  PTEW  MOON. 

females,  on  discovering  the  enemy,  caused  t he- 
alarmed  women  to*  fly  precipitately  ;  and  Menae, 
in  the  first  moment  of  affright,  was  in  the  act  of 
retreating  with  the  others,  when  she  recollected 
her  child.  To  save  a  life  more  precious  than  her 
own,  she  swiftly  returned,  in  the  face  of  the  Sioux 
warriors,  snatched  her  child  from  the  tree,  and 
bore  him  rapidly  away.  She  was  closely  pursued 
by  one  of  the  savages,  who  had  nearly  overtaken 
her,  when  she  arrived  at  a  fence  which  separated 
the  field  from  the  enclosure  surrounding  the  trad- 
ing-house. A  moment's  hesitation  would  have 
been  fatal — but,  with  a  presence  of  mind  which 
always  distinguished  her  above  other  women,  she 
gathered  all  her  strength,  threw  the  child,  with 
its  board,  into  the  enclosure,  and  then,  placing  her 
hands  on  the  fence,  leaped  nimbly  over.  Several 
of  her  companions  were  murdered,  while  she 
escaped,  with  her  child,  unhurt.* 

After  a  longer  absence  than  usual,  Bolingbroke 
returned,  bringing  with  him  ail  accomplished  lady, 
of  his  own  people,  whom  he  had  married,  but  un- 
accompanied •  by  his  Indian  daughter,  whom  he 
had  placed  at  school.  Menae  heard  this  intelli- 
gence with  the  deepest  sorrow,  but  with  less  sur- 
prise than  such  an  event  would  have  occasioned  a 

*  I  am  indebted  to  Long's  Expedition  for  this,  and  some 
of  the  other  incidents  of  this  tale. 


THE  NEW  MOON.  263 

wife  in  a  civilised  land ;  as  the  practice  of  poly- 
gamy, which  prevails  among  the  Omawhaws,  had 
perhaps  prepared  her  %  anticipate  such  an  occur- 
ence  as  not  improbable.  She  was  stung  to  the 
heart  by  the  conviction  that  she  had  lost  the  love 
of  him,  who  was  dearer  to  her  than  all  the  world, 
and  for  whom  she  had  sacrificed  so  much ;  and 
mortified  that  another  should  be  preferred  to  her- 
self. But  the  legality  of  the  transaction,  and  its 
frequency  among  the  people  of  her  tribe,  lulled,  in 
some  degree,  the  sense  of  degradation,  and  blunted 
the  sharpness  of  her  resentment.  She  considered 
the  act  lawful,  while  she  condemned  the  actor  as 
faithless  and  ungrateful.  In  secresy  she  wept 
bitterly  over  her  disappointed  pride,  and  blighted 
joy ;  but  professed  in  public  a  cheerful*  acquies- 
cence in  the  decision  of  her  husband.  The  Black- 
bird was  now  dead  ;  and  the  keen  sighted  Menae 
could  not  blind  herself  to  the  conviction,  that  the 
decease  of  her  father  had  rendered  her  of  less  im- 
portance to  the  mercenary  trader. 

Previous  to  the  arrival  of  Bolingbroke  at  the 
Omawhaw  village,  he  despatched  a  message  to 
the  trading-house,  announcing  his  marriage,  and 
forbidding  his  Indian  wife  from  appearing  in  the 
presence  of  her  rival.  To  this  cruel  mandate  she 
submitted,  with  that  implicit  obedience  which  the 
females  of  her  race  are  accustomed  to  pay  to  the 
commands  of  their  husbands,  and  departed  to  a 


246  THE   NEW  MOON. 

distant  village  of  her  nation.  But  what  woman 
c;in  trust  the  weakness  of  her  heart?  Conjugal 
love,  and  maternal  fondness,  both  allured  her  to 
the  presence  of  him  who  had -so  .long  been  the 
of  her  affections.  Which  of  these  was  the 
ilini^  inducement,  it  is  difficult  to  conjecture  ; 
she  longed  to  see  Bolingbroke,  and  her  heart 
yearned  for  tidings  from  her  absent  child,  but 
without  this  plea,  her  pride  would  probably  have 
forbidden  her  from  seeking  an  interview  with  the 
of  her  peace.  Unable  to  remain  in 
banishment,  she  returned  to  her  native  village, 
with  her  little  boy  on  her  back,  and  encamped  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  her  husband's  residence — in 
sight  of  that  cottage  which  her  own  hands  had 
embellished,  in  which  she  had  spent  years  of  do- 
mestic felicitv,  and  where  another  now  reigned  in 
her  place.  She  sent  her  son  to  the  trader,  who 
treated  him  affectionately.  On  the  following  day 
he  commanded  her  presence,  and  she  stood  before 
him,  in  that  house  which  had  been  her  own,  with 
her  arms  meekly  folded  upon  her  breast,  gazing 
calmly  on  the  cold  but  handsome  features  of  him 
who  -was  the  lord  of  her  destiny.  Suppressing 
every  other  feeling,  and  avoiding  all  other  topics, 
she  enquired  for  her  daughter,  and  listened  with 
interest  to  such  information  as  he  was  pleased  to 
give  her.  She  then^  with  much  composure,  de- 
sired to  know  his  intentions  in  relation  to  the 


THE  NEW  MOON.  265 

future  disposition  of  both  her  children.  To  this 
question  he  gave  an  evasive  answer  ;  and  directed 
her  to  accompany  her  friends,  who  were  on  their 
way  to  the  hunting  grounds.  She  departed  with- 
out a  murmur. 

Two  months  afterwards,  she  was  recalled.  She 
lost  no  time  in  presenting  herself  before  the  hus- 
band whom  she  still  tenderly  loved,  notwithstand- 
ing his  cruel  desertion.  Her  resentment  had  in  a 
great  measure  subsided,  and  rather  than  be  ban- 
ished entirely  from  his  affection,  she  was  content 
to  share  it  with  another,  according  to  the  usages 
of  her  tribe.  Such  she  supposed  to  be  his  inten- 
tion in  sending  for  her,  and  she  freely  forgave  the 
temporary  aberration  of  his  love,  under  the  suppo- 
sition that  she  would  be  to  him  hereafter,  if  not 
his  sole  favourite,  at  least  a  respected  wife,  that 
her  children  would  find  a  home  under  his  roof,  and 
that  he  wo.uld  be  to  her,  and  them,  a  faithful  pro- 
tector. Alas  !  how  the  heart,  given  up  to  the  illu- 
sions of  love,  cheats  itself  with  visions  of  future 
bliss  !  How  often  does  the  young  wife  build  up  a 
fabric  of  happiness,  which,  like  the  icy  palace  of 
the  Russian  potentate,  is  splendid  to  the  eye  in  the 
hour  of  its  illumination,  but  melts  away  with  the 
sun  of  the  succeeding  day  !  The  New  Moon 
hastened  to  her  husband,  full  of  young  hope,  and 
newly  kindled  affection ;  but  bitter  was  her  disap- 
pointment, when,  after  an  austere  reception,  he 
23 


VifiO  THE  NEW  MOON. 

demanded  the  surrender  of  her  son,  and  renounced 
any  future  association  with  herself,  directing  her 
to  return  to  her  people,  and  to  provide  for  her  own 
support  as  she  might  see  proper. 

Indignant  at  being  thus  repudiated,  overcome 
elings  which  she  could  not  control,  and 
alarmed  at  the  proposed  separation  from  her 
child,  she  rushed  from  the  house  with  the  infant 
in  her  arms,  and  finding  a  canoe  on  the  river 
shore,  paddled  over  to  the  opposite  side,  and  made 
her  escape  into  the  forest.  The  weather  was 
cold  and  stormy,  the  snow  was  falling,  and  the 
wretched  mother  had  no  shelter  to  protect  her. 
Throughout  the  whole  night  she  wandered  about 
in  the  wilderness,  hugging  her  babe  to  her  bosom, 
and  keeping  it  alive  by  the  warmth  of  her  own 
breast.  But  worn  down  with  fatigue  and  exposure, 
and  discouraged  by  her  disconsolate  condition,  she 
determined  in  the  morning  to  return,  and,  with  the 
feelings  of  a  wife  and  mother,  to  plead  her  cause 
before  the  arbiter  of  her  fate. 

Early  in  the  morning,  the  wretched  woman, 
faint,  hungry,  and  shivering  with  cold,  presented 
herself  before  him,  who,  in  the  hour  of  her  beauty, 
had  sued  for  her  favour.  She,  who  had  loved, 
and  cherished,  and  counselled,  and  protected  him, 
and  who  had  higher  claims  upon  him  than  any 
other  living  individual,  stood  a  trembling  suppliant 
at  his  door. 


THE  NEW  MOON.  287 

"  Here  is  our  child,"  said  she  ;  "  I  do  not  ques- 
tion your  fondness  for  him — but  he  is  still  more 
dear  to  me.  You  can  not  love  him  with  a  mo- 
ther's love,  nor  keep  him  with  a  mother's-  care. 
You  say  that  you  will  keep .  him  for  yourself,  and 
drive  me  far  from  you.  But,  no-: — I  will  remain 
with  him.  You  may  spurn  me  from  your  own 
society,  but  you  cannot  drive  me  from  my  child. 
Take  him  and  feed  him.  I  can  find  some  corner 
into  which  I  may  creep,  in  order  to  be  near  him, 
and  hear  him  when  he  cries  for  his  mother,  and 
sometimes  see  him.  If  you  will  not  give  me  food, 
I  will  remain  until  I  starve,  and  die  before  your 
eyes." 

There  are  those  who  have  no  feeling.  The 
trader  had  none.  Not  a  chord  in  his  bosom  vi- 
brated to  this  eloquent  appeal.  A  young  and 
beautiful  woman  reduced  to  penury — a  mother 
folding  her  infant  in  her  arms — his  own  wife,  the 
mother  of  his  children — she  who  had  cherished 
his  interest  and  honour  more  dearly  than  her  own 
life,  and  who  would  have  endured  any  anguish  to 
have  saved  him  from  a  momentary  pang ; — with 
all  these,  and  a  thousand  other  claims  upon  his 
sympathy  and  justice,  she  was  an  unsuccessful  sup- 
pliant. 

He  offered  her  money,  and  desired  her  to  leave 
the  child.  Her  blood  rushed  to  her  heart  at  the 
base  proposal,  and  she  indignantly  replied — "  Is 


20  S  THE  NEW  MOON. 

my  child  a  dog,  that  I  should  sell  him  for  mer- 
chandise ?  You  cannot  drive  me  away ;  you  may 
beat  me,  you  may  taunt  me  with  insults,- but  I  will 
remain.  When  you  married  me,  you  promised  to 
use  me  kindly  as  long  as  I  should  be  faithful  to 
you  ;  that  I  have  always  been  so,  no  one  can  deny. 
1  have  loved  you  with  tenderness,  and  Served  you  * 
with  fidelity.  Ours  was  not  a  marriage  contracted 
for  a  season — it  was  to  .terminate  only  with  our 
lives.  I  was  then  a  young  girl,  the  daughter  of 
the  head  man  of  the  Omawhaws,  and  might  have 
been  united  to  a  chief  of  my  own  nation ;  but  now 
f  am  an  old  woman,  the  mother  of  two  children, 
and  what  Omawhaw  will  regard  me?  Is  not  my 
right  superior  to  that  of  your  other  wife  ?  She 
had  heard  of  me  before  you  possessed  her.  It  is 
true,  her  skin  is  whiter  than  mine,  but  her  heart 
cannot  be  more  pure  towards  you,  nor  her  fidelity 
more  rigid.  Do  not  take  the  child  from  my  breast 
— I  cannot  bear  to  hear  it  cry,  and  not  be  present 
to  relieve  it :  permit  me  to  retain  it  until  the 
spring,  when  it  will  be  able  to  eat,  and  then,  if  it 
must  be  so,  take  it  from  my  sight,  that  I  may  part 
with  it  but  once." 

The  trader  remained  inexorable;  he  listened, 
with  apathy,  to  the  feeling  appeal  of  his  wife;  but 
finding  her  inflexible,  and  knowing  her*  high  spirit, 
he  attempted  no  reply — coolly  remarking  that  she 
might  remain  there  if  she  pleased,  but  that  the 


THE  NEW  MOON.  269 

child  should  immediately  be  sent  down  to  the  set- 
tlements. 

The  affectionate  mother  had  thus  ftft-  sustained 
herself,  during  the  interview,  with  the  firmness  of 
conscious  right,  and  had  successfully  curbed  the 
impulse  of  her  feelings ;  but  nature  now  yielded, 
the  tears  burst  from  her  eyes — and  clasping  her 
hands,  and  bowing  her  head,  she  gave  way  to  the 
agony  of  her  grief,,  exclaiming — "  Why  did  the 
Master  of  life  hate  me  so  much,  as  to  induce  me 
to  put  my  child  again  into  your  power  ?" 

"  But,  no,"  she  continued,  after  a  momentary 
pause,  "  we  are  not  in  your  power — you  have  re- 
nounced my  obedience — I  no  longer  owe  you  any 
duty.  I  belong  to  a  free  wild  race  that  has  never 
submitted  to  oppression.  The  pale  face  shall  learn 
that  the  blood  of  an  Omawhaw  chief  runs  in  the 
veins  of  his  discarded  wife.  For  herself,  she  has 
no  wrongs  to  resent — but  for  her  child  she  can 
strike  the  death-blow  with  as  firm  an  arm  as  that 
of  the  warrior.  My  son  shall  not  go  to  the  fires 
of  the  white  people,  to  be  their  servant,  and  to  be 
insulted  for  his  descent  from  an  Indian  mother. 
He  shall  not  be  trained  up  in  the  corn-field  like  a 
squaw,  or  be  taught  to  sell  his  honour  for  money 
like  the  trader  of  the  white  Americans.  I  shall 
take  him  'with  me.  He  is  mine,  and  shall  never 
be  taken  alive  from  my  arms.  Attempt  to  sepa- 
rate us,  and  I  will  strike  this  knife  to  his  heart, 
23* 


270  THE  NEW  MOON. 

and  then  put  an  end  to  my  own  wretched  exist- 
ence !" 

So  sayiflg,  she  darted  away  with  a  swiftness 
which  announced  that  the  resolution  of  her  mind 
had  imparted  new  vigour  to  her  limbs ;  while  the 
trader,  alarmed  by  her  threats,  abandoned  his  pur- 
pose, and  suffered  her  to  retire  without  pursuit. 

Two  weeks  afterwards,  a  haggard  female  was 
seen  slowly  approaching  a  distant  hunting-camp 
of  the  Omawhaws,  bearing  an  emaciated  child  on 
her  back.  It  was -she  who  had  once  been  the 
pride  of  their  nation — the  daughter  of  that  dreaded 
chief  whose  word  was  law.  She  had  wandered 
through  the  woods,  thinly  clad,  and  almost  without 
food,  subsisting  upon  such  small  game  as  she  coirid 
out  rap  by  artifice.  At  night  she  crept  into  a  hol- 
low tree,  or  scraped  the  snow  from  the  ground, 
and  nestled  in  the  leaves.  She  had  traversed  the 
wide  prairies,  now  desolate  and  snow  clad,  on  whose 
broad  expanse  scarce  a  living  animal  was  seen,  and 
over  which  the  bleak  wind  swept  with  unbroken 
power.  The  wolf  had  tracked  her  footsteps,  and 
howled  around  the  dreary  spot  of  her  lonesome 
encampment.  Without  a  path  or  a  guide — igno- 
rant of  the  intended  movements  of  her  tribe,  and 
uncertain  where  to  find  them — exposed  to  immi- 
nent and  constantly  impending  danger  from  cold, 
hunger,  beasts  jof  prey,  and  hostile  savages — this 
intrepid  female  pursued  her  solitary  way  through 


THE  NEW  MOON.  271 

the  vast  wilderness  with  unbroken  spirit,  trusting 
to  her  native  courage  and  sagacity,  and  praying  to 
the  Great  Master  of  life  for  assistance.  And  who 
doubts  that  such  a  prayer  is  heard?  Who  can 
doubt  that  the  same  beneficent  God  who  decks  the 
wilderness  with  matchless  beauty,  and  stores  it 
with  abundance,  listens  to  the  plaintive  cry  of  the 
widowed  mother  and  her  innocent  babe  1  How 
often  do  the  weak  and  helpless  pass  unhurt  through 
perils  under  which  the  bold  and  strong  would  sink, 
or  endure  privations  for  the  support  of  which  hu- 
manity seems  unequal !  And  can  we  see  this  with- 
out believing  that  the  same  unseen  influence,  which 
tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb,  is  ever  ready 
to  listen  to  the  petition  of  the  afflicted  1 — and  that 
those  who  seem  most  friendless  and  destitute  are 
the  favoured  objects  of  the  most  efficient  protec- 
tion ?  Yes^— there  is  a  prayer  that  is  heard, 
though  it  ascend  not  from  the  splendid  edifices 
erected  by  pride  or  piety,  nor  clothes  itself  in  the 
rounded  periods  of  polished  eloquence.  There  is 
a  religion  of  the  heart,  and  a  language  of  nature  ; 
and  God,  who  so  organised  the  flower  that  it  turns 
itself  to  the  sun,  to  catch  vigour  from  the  life-giv- 
ing ray,  has  so  framed  'the  human  bosom  that  it 
spontaneously  expands  itself  to  Him  in  the  hour  of 
adversity.  She  prayed  to  the  Great  Spirit,  and 
he  conducted  her  safely  through  the  wilderness. 
The  Omawhaws  had  regarded  the  wife  of  Bo- 


272  THE  NEW  MOON. 

lingbroke  with  coldness,  when  they  saw  her  sur- 
rounded with  affluence  superior  to  their  own,  and 
considered  her"  as  an  apostate  from  the  ancient 
customs  of  her  people.  Their  love  for  her  was 
turned  to  distrust,  while  they  beheld  her  in  a 
foreign  jrarb,  and  viewed  her  as  the  ally  of  the 
while  man.  But  when  she  came  back  to  them  a 
destitute,  houseless,  deeerh  <1  woman,  they  received 
hei  with  kindness,  restored  her  to  the  place  she 
had  occupied  in  their  confidence,  and  poured  out 
bitter  curses- upon  her  faithless  husband.  As  she 
repeated  the  story  of  her  abandonment,  even  in 
thi-  softened  language  of  an  unwilling  accuser, 
their  indignant  comments  showed  that  they  had 
made  her  cause  their  own.  Bolingbroke  was  no 
longer  protected  by  the  mysterious  power  of  the 
dreaded  chief,  his  rivals  had  already  supplanted 
him  in  the  affections  of  the  tribe,  and  his  last 
offence  overturned  the  tottering  fabric  of  his  po- 
pularity. The  passions  of  the  Indian  know  no 
medium :  what  they  condemn  they  hate,  and  what- 
ever they  hate  they  destroy.  The  doom  of  the 
trader  was  deliberately  fixed.  It  was  unsparing 
and  irrevocable.  Him,  and  his  household,  and  all 
that  he  possessed,  were  solemnly  doomed  to  death 
and  plunder. 

The  following  morning  Menae  stood  in  a  secluded 
spot,  at  some  distance  from  the  encampment,  in 
earnest  conversation  with  a  young  warrior  of  a 


THE  NEW  MOON.  273 

bold  and  prepossessing  appearance,  whose  hand 
was  twisted  in  the  mane  of  a  fiery  steed. 

"  You  know  the  white  trader  ?"  said  she. 

"  Yes,  he  gave  me  a  blanket  once." 

"  Was  that  all  ?" 

"  The  first  time  that  I  went  to  hunt  he  filled 
my  horn  with  powder,  and  promised  me  good 
luck." 

"Think  once  more.  You  owe  a  larger  debt 
than  either  of  those  to  the  white  trader." 

"  When  my  father  was  killed  by  the  Sioux,  and 
I  was  badly  wounded,  none  of  the  Omawhaws  took 
pity  on  me,  for  there  was  a  scarcity  in  the  village. 
You  took  me  into  your  wigwam,  cured  my  wounds, 
and  fed  me  with  the  white  man's  provisions." 

"  You  owe  him  your  life." 

"  I  owe  it  to  you." 

"  To  us  both." 

"  I  am  willing  to  pay  the  debt.  I  have  often 
said  that  I  would  die  for  the  New  Moon,  and  I 
am  not  unfriendly  to  the  trader ;  I  have  eaten  his 
bread." 

"You  can  be  secret?" 

"  The  serpent,  which  has  no  voice,  is  not  more 
secret  than  I." 

"Go  to  the  white  trader.  Let  none  see  you 
depart — let  none  but  him  see  you  at  the  principal 
village  of  the  Omawhaws.  Tell  him  that  Menae 
sent  you — that  she,  who  helped  to  build  up  his 


274  THE  NEW  MOON. 

fortune,  who  has  for  years  watched  over  his  safety, 
now  warns  him  of  danger,  and  bids  him  fly  to  the 
settlements  of  his  own  people.  Say  that  the  spirit 
of  my  father  has  whispered  in  my  ear  that  the 
Omawhaws  have  predicted  the  death  of  the  trader. 
Tell  him  that  1  shall  never  see  him  again — 1 
would  not  condescend  to  be  his  wife,  or  his  ser- 
vant ;  1  would  starve  rather  than  eat  his  bread — 
but  I  should  grieve  to  see  the  father  of  my  chil- 
dren die  the  death  of  a  dog,  or  the  pale  girl,  whom 
chosen  for  his  wife,  suffering  the  penalty  of 
.me.  He  knows  I  would  not  deceive  him. 
1  have  but  one  tongue — it  has  always  spoken  the 
truth.  We  walked  together  t<>r  y<  ar- — I  have 
looked  back  at  my  path,  and  find  that  it  is  white. 
Bid  them  fly  to  the  fires  of  the  white  people,  be- 
fore another  moon  shall  be  seen  in  the  place  of  that 
which  is  now  waning.  And  say  to  Bolingbroke — 
to  the  white  trader — that  if  lie  feels  any  gratitude 
to  her  who  has  more  than  once  been  a  true  friend 
in  the  hour  of  peril,  and  now  saves  him,  and  his 
new  wifer  from  the  rage  of  the  Omawhaws,  he 
will  restore  her  daughter  to  the  arms  of  its  mo- 
ther* Let  him  do  this,  and  Menae  will  forgive 
his  faithless  treatment  of  herself,  and  forget  all 
her  sorrows." 

The  young  Indian  bent  his  head,  and  listened 
attentively,  as    Menae   pronounced   these   words 


THE  NEW  MOON.  275 

with  a  rapid  but  distinct  utterance.  He  then 
said,  respectfully, 

"  It  shall  be  done-^though  it  grieves  me  to  dis- 
appoint the  Omawhaw  warriors  of  their  just  ven- 
geance. But  the  daughter  of  Blackbird  was  a 
mother  to  me,  when  I  was  a  sick  boy ;  I  will  be  a 
son  to  her  now  that  I  am  a  man.  When  I  had 
no  home,  I  slept  in  the  white  man's  house  :  it 
shall  not  be  burned  over  his  head." 

He  loosened  his  hand  from  the  mane  of  the 
young  horse,  on  whose  neck  he  leaned,  and  the 
liberated  animal  dashed  away  over  the  plain, 
snuffing  the  keen  air  of  the  morning,  and  throwing 
up  the  snow  with  his  heels. 

"  Why  turn  loose  your  horse,"  enquired  his 
companion,  "  when  you  have  immediate  use  for 
his  services  ?" 

The  Indian  smiled,  and  said,  "  No  man  rides 
on  horseback  when  his  business  is  secret.  My 
own  feet  will  leave  no  track  upon  the  frozen  snow. 
I  have  a  store  of  dried  meat  hidden  in  the  woods, 
which  I  can'easily  find.  Farewell.  The  grayest 
head  among  the  Omawhaws  shall  not  find  my 
trail,  nor  discover  my  errand." 

Shortly  after  this  event,  the  Indians  learned,  to 
their  great  disappointment,  that  Bolingbroke  had 
suddenly  abandoned  the  village,  with  all  his  pro- 
perty, and  announced  his  intention  to  return  no 
more  ;  but  they  never  discovered  the  cause  of  his 


•^76  THE  NEW  MOON. 

abrupt  departure.  On  the  next  visit  of  the  other 
traders  to  St.  Louis,  the  daughter  of  Menae  was 
placed  under  their  charge,  to  be  delivered  t 
mother,  who  received  her  child  with  the  joy  of 
one  who  had  mourned  over  a  first  born.  She 
lived  afterwards  in  retirement,  seldom  appearing 
at  the  festivals  of  the  nation  $  and  observing  the 
decent  gravity  of  a  widowed  matron — carefully 
bringing  up  her  children  after  the  fashion  of  her 
own  people,  and  continually  advising  them  to 
avoid  the  •  soctety,  the  customs,  and  the  vices,  of 
the  wtttes. 


nit 


* 


984091 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


SUPPLIED     BY 

THE  SEVEN  BOOKHUNTERS 

STATION  0.  BOX  22  — NEW  YORK  CITY 


